


Discord & Unions

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: Queens of Ice and Fire [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A plus J equals C & J, Angst, Cunnilingus, Dreams, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Half-Sibling Incest, Marriage Alliances, Masturbation, Past Abuse, Politics, Pregnancy, R plus L equals J, Resolved Sexual Tension, Reunions, Secrets, Smut, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Sexual Tension, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 69
Words: 78,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Just playing around with some of my expectations for season 7...
Sansa knows what she wants and she doesn't care that it's wrong. Jon tries to fight his feelings. But then a letter from the Dragon Queen arrives.
Jon and Sansa come together, only to be immediately torn apart again. During their time apart, they learn to deal with everything life throws at them, finding strength in their memories of each other. 
When the secret of Jon's parentage is revealed, will they find their way back to each other? Or is it too late?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I wasn't going to write show verse, but I suppose I know nothing.

“So this is your plan for Alys Karstark and Harmond Umber, to do nothing?”

Sansa had risen to her feet, standing over him in their shared solar. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. They had only been back in Winterfell for a couple of weeks, but he felt they had been doing this for years. At times it seemed all their nights went like this, arguing and screaming at each other. These days, they couldn’t agree on anything. He stood up, facing her. “Granting them mercy is not doing nothing! They’re only children, Sansa.”

“Lady Alys is only a year younger than I am!”

He shook his head. “Which is still too young to answer for actions she had no part in! I would have thought you of all people would understand!”

She looked at him in disbelief: “What is that supposed to mean? You think I’m too young to understand?”

She turned around again, sinking back into her chair. Jon looked up at her, catching her gaze. “Sansa, I was under the impression that you were punished for father’s and Robb's _treason_ while you were in King’s Landing?”

Her eyes gleamed like burning blue steel. “That’s entirely different!”

He walked back to his seat as well. “You’re talking about punishing innocent children for their elders’ crimes. It’s not entirely different.”

Sansa’s mouth was a thin line. “Perhaps I was a little too harsh, but I’d like to point out that you’re the naive one in this, _Your Grace_. You have no understanding of how this game works, at all! You just carry on, forgiving everyone who didn’t support you without asking anything in return for that forgiveness!”

She had expressed similar opinions before, but her words still hurt. He snapped: “So that’s it? You still think I’m a fool? You still don’t trust me?”

Sansa opened her mouth and closed it again. Jon almost regretted his words. “I- I’m sorry, Jon.”

He thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes. “I do, but sometimes I’m so afraid for you. I only want to protect you.”

Jon softened at those surprisingly tender words, but collected himself quickly. “Despite what you think, I do know some things,” he almost winced at the ice in his own tone, “I do not intend to do nothing. We’ll discuss the specifics later. I’d like to retire now, I’m tired.”

He almost strode out of the room without another look at her. Only a foot away from the door, he paused and turned back to where she was still sitting. She looked up at him hesitantly. He reached out to cup her cheek and pressed his lips lightly to her temple. “Goodnight, Sansa.”

She covered the hand on her face with her own. “Goodnight, Jon.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa found herself sitting in one of the smaller council chambers of the Great Keep. Lords Cerwyn and Manderly had insisted on meeting her alone, without Jon being present. The request had seemed rather suspicious, so she had decided to include Maester Barth in the meeting. The new Maester, a surprisingly young man with flaxen hair, was sitting to her right. Wyman Manderly was occupying the seat opposite her, Cley Cerwyn next to him. After the proper pleasantries had been exchanged, Sansa began: "Well, my lords, you called for this meeting and insisted upon my discretion, so please come forward. What is it you would like to discuss?"

The lords exchanged an uncomfortable look, before Manderly turned back to Sansa and started: "My lady, we are most loyal to the King, but the need to discuss this particular issue is quite pressing. We already tried to broach the subject with the King himself, but-

"The King seems utterly unwilling to even consider the possibilities," Cerwyn cut in, an indignant look on his face. 

Sansa narrowed her eyes: "And what issue might be this be, my lords?"

Cerwyn took the lead this time. "The King needs to choose a wife! My sister Jonelle is unmarried still, she would make him a fine queen!"

_Of course._ Jon had already told her how Cerwyn and Manderly had cornered him after a council meeting a few days ago. He'd confessed the thought of marriage hadn't even occurred to him before and that he didn't feel particularly inclined to accept any proposals. She still remembered the look of horror on his face when he'd told her:  _"Jonelle Cerwyn has seen thirty namedays and they say she looks like a horse!"_

Sansa had tried to keep her face blank, chortling out:  _" Jon! It's very unkingly of you to say such a thing!"_

Manderly was talking again. "I have two granddaughters, my lady, both young and fair. Wylla, the youngest, is a fiery thing. Wynafryd is more reserved, but she's more intelligent than half the lords in these halls. Important traits for a queen. I believe she and the King are very much alike in temper. I consider them greatly compatible indeed!"

Jon hadn't mentioned much about the Manderly girls. He'd only remarked that Wylla was supposed to have green hair. Sansa had chuckled.  _"I wasn't aware hair colour was that important in a queen."_

He had whispered:  _"I like red hair."_

Then he'd stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and excused himself, muttering about some urgent business he had to attend to.

Lord Cerwyn seemed to be disagreeing with Manderly's evaluation of Wynafryd. "How can you tell she's intelligent? I haven't heard her speak more than three words at a time! Jonelle on the other hand is a lively maid, a great conversational partner, she has a fine sense of humour!"

Lord Manderly puffed up his massive chest: "Your sister has the intellect of a common tavern wench! She's an old maid, perhaps too old to give the King children. That is, if he even manages to bed her!"

The image came to her unbidden, Jon in bed with a faceless stranger, naked and writhing on top of her. She wondered why that idea left her so sad. She shook her head to collect her thoughts. Cerwyn and Manderly were facing each other at the other side of the table, one roaring over the other. Sansa pushed herself to her feet, holding her palms out to the pair of quarrelling lords. "Please, my lords! There is no need for such a base display of emotions here! I promise to speak to the King about your proposals, I'll ask him to reconsider!"

Manderly remembered himself first, apologizing profusely before taking his seat again. Cerwyn acknowledged her with a curt nod: "Apologies, my lady."

Maester Barth cleared his throat, speaking up for the first time. "My lady, my lords. I can see that you are all puzzled by the King's reluctance to take a wife. Perhaps I can clarify the matter."

Sansa sat down again, beckoning the Maester to continue. "Both your sister," he nodded to Lord Cerwyn, then turning to Lord Manderly, "and your granddaughters are fine matches indeed. The King is already convinced of your unwavering allegiance though. Marriages are made to seal alliances and the King recognizes the importance of bringing those who strayed back into the fold. That is why he has proposed a betrothal between Harmond Umber and Lyanna Mormont. I also believe the King himself intends to wed Lady Karstark."

Sansa realized her mouth had fallen open.  _That's actually a really clever move._ By the lack of objections from Cerwyn and Manderly, she could tell they understood that as well.  _Then why does it feel like my heart has sunk into my stomach? And why hasn't he told me?_

She looked up at the lords in front of her: "If that was all, my lords? Pray excuse me."

Sansa strode through the door, heading for the lady's chambers. She couldn't help thinking:  _Alys Karstark has red hair._

 


	3. Chapter 3

"So, tell me, Your Grace, do I have choice?"

Jon turned his head to the girl who was walking beside him in Winterfell's Godswood and studied her face. Her hair was a lighter red than Sansa's and she was not as tall. She had a large forehead and a rather prominent jaw, but the colour of her eyes was very pretty, a dark, liquid amber. He smiled at her: "Of course you have a choice, Lady Karstark."

She smirked at him. "And if I refuse?"

Jon sighed: "We'll have to figure out something else. But... You're not opposed to the match because of your intended's origins?"

She huffed. Jon realized he liked this girl, she reminded him of Arya. "I suppose not," she confessed, "men are men. There must be good ones and bad ones North of the Wall, just as there are South of it, I'd imagine." 

Jon frowned at her, tilting his head. It was the Lady Alys' turn to sigh now. "My uncle Arnolf tried to force himself on me, but I grew up with three brothers, Your Grace. They taught me how to use a blade."

She rested her hand on the pommel of the sword strapped to her belt.  _Sansa had four brothers,_ he reflected sadly,  _and none of us ever taught her how to use a blade. I only gave one to Arya._ He forced a smile, not allowing his mind to linger on what-ifs. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

In another life her fierceness and skill with a blade would have appealed to him as well - he hadn't failed to detect her resemblance to Ygritte - and he might have considered taking her as his queen, as Maester Barth had suggested. But he had made his decision. He would not marry anyone. Sansa would remain his heir, and he'd go North to fight the White Walkers. He was aware that he would most likely never return to Winterfell, but the vision of Sansa taking her rightful place as Queen in the North and filing the castle with half a dozen children who looked like their lost siblings more than made up for that. Lady Karstark's voice startled him from his pondering. "You seem rather fond of this Tormund Giantsbane, Your Grace."

Jon nodded. "I am. He can come off a bit uncouth, but he has a good heart. I'm quite certain he'll allow you to keep your name and pass it on to your children. Are you familiar with the Free Folk's marriage customs, my lady?"

She lifted her chin. "I was under the impression they followed the Old Gods..."

"They do and I think Tormund would agree to having a ceremony here," Jon answered, pointing at the Godswood they had just left, "but he'd also want it to be a proper marriage, which means he'd need to steal you."

Lady Karstark chuckled: "Steal me?"

"To prove he's strong enough to protect you. You'd be expected to resist a little, threaten him with a knife... He wouldn't actually try... anything. It's just another wedding ritual."

They'd entered Winterfell's main courtyard by now and Lady Karstark came to a halt to face him, beaming at him. "Alright, Your Grace, I think I'll agree to the match. I'd like to see the man first though, to make sure he's not as hideous-looking as the Wildlings were always made out to be in the stories. If he looks half-decent, I'll marry him."

Jon grinned back, laughing out loud when she made a clumsy attempt at a curtsey. He caught a flash of dark red out of the corner of his eye and turned left automatically. Sansa was standing across the courtyard. He started walking in her direction, but faltered when he spotted her stony face and the icy look in her eyes. She hastily picked up her skirts and left before he had a chance to approach her. 

His mood turned sour at once. She'd been avoiding him for days now. She had treated him like this before, but she'd never persevered in her stubbornness this long. After a day or two she'd lose her patience and come to his chambers to point out to him exactly what he'd done to deserve her disregard. He wouldn't wait for it this time though, tonight he'd visit her and demand an explanation.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon knocked on the door to Sansa's bedchamber. She'd retired early today, probably in another attempt to avoid his company. When she called for him to come in, he entered to see her sitting by the fire, strips of rich grey and white fabrics flowing from her lap, a needle in hand. She looked lovely, her hair pulled back from her face and glowing in the firelight, her brow furrowed in concentration and her white teeth pressing into her full bottom lip. She spoke without looking up: "You can retire, Amma, I won't be needing you tonight."

"It's me," Jon choked out.

She jerked her head up and exclaimed: "Your Grace!"

 _That's how it's going to be then? Alright._ He bowed his head: "My Lady."

She set her needlework aside and rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirts. She was wearing a deep blue velvet bedrobe, only losely cinched at the waist with a lighter blue sash. The thin fabric of her cream nightrail was visible from that sash up to where it revealed the ivory skin over her collarbones. Jon averted his eyes when she curtsied. Sansa held out her hand, pointing to a chair sitting next to her. Jon took a seat. Sansa turned around, straightening her back, smiling at the flames crackling in the fireplace. A few minutes passed in awkward silence. Jon cleared his throat: "What were you working on?"

Sansa kept her eyes on the fire. "A new gown. I'll be needing one soon."

Jon couldn't remember any occasion coming up that would require Sansa to wear a new gown, so he just said: "Ah."

This was going to be harder than he'd imagined. He knew one wrong word could set off Sansa's temper. Despite the determination he'd felt that afternoon, he was so tired of fighting with her. 

Sansa's voice broke the silence. "Did you enjoy your little stroll with Lady Alys? You seem to like her a lot."

"I did - I do."

Jon felt his face pull into a frown as he turned to look at Sansa, who was pursing her lips. "And when were you planning on telling me about her, Your Grace?"

"Tell you what exactly, My Lady?"

Sansa's nostrils flared. "You said we needed to trust each other, Jon, but now you're the one keeping secrets from me!"

 _Is this about Lady Karstark's betrothal? Why would she be so upset about that?_ "I would have told you, but you have been avoiding me for nearly a week, Sansa! Why do you even care about it so much?"

She rose in a whirl of red. "Why do I care? It  _is_ a rather important decision, don't you think, Jon? And it affects me, too!"

Jon pushed himself to his feet, throwing his hands up and staring at her incredulously: "How?"

Sansa screeched at him, her chest heaving: "You dare ask how? Tell me, Jon, once you've married that sad excuse for a lady and made her your queen, where does that leave me? What will I be to the North, to Winterfell, to you?"

A laugh of relief burst from Jon's lips. Sansa's eyes narrowed, her fists balled at her sides. "You think _I_ am going to marry Lady Karstark?"

Her hands relaxed, but her eyes remained slits of blazing blue. "You're not?"

"No," he snorted, "Lady Alys is to wed Tormund Giantsbane."

He closed the distance between them to put his hands on her shoulders. She stared at him: "So, you are not marrying anyone?"

Jon tucked her into his chest and whispered against her hair: "Of course not. I don't need a queen. I have you..."

He pulled away to look at her face. "Sansa, you are the Princess of Winterfell, my Hand, my heir, my regent. And when I'm gone, you'll be Queen."

Tears were welling up in her eyes now. "Don't say that. I can't lose you, Jon. And I- I couldn't stand the thought of losing you to Alys Karstark. You're mine."

She was so close he could count her dark wet lashes. Her warm breath washed over his face as her hands fisted into the fabric of his tunic. "I'm yours," he agreed and pressed his lips to hers, ever so softly. She closed her eyes and her mouth started moving against his. When he moved his right hand to the back of her head and slipped his left down to her waist, she parted her lips in a sigh. He lightly sucked in her bottom lip, flicking out his tongue and meeting hers. She tasted like a Dornish wine, sweet enough, but pleasantly tart, mixed with a little salt from her tears. He slid his hand to the small of her back, pulling her flush against his body. Her kiss grew hungrier and deeper.

When they parted for breath, she panted out: "No one has ever kissed me like that."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, her cheekbone. She wrapped her arms around him. He followed a trail down her jawline to her soft, warm neck, sucking delicately at her salty, lemony skin. She turned her head to breathe in his ear: "Jon, I want to feel loved. I want _him_ gone. Will you help me?"

He kissed the skin between her collarbones. "I'll do anything for you."

She wound her hands into his hair and pulled his head up so he could meet her eyes. "Make him go away, Jon. Make me yours."


	5. Chapter 5

Jon retreated a few steps, gently pulling Sansa's hands from his hair. "We can't."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not?"

"Seven hells! You're my sister, Sansa!"

She shrugged. "So?"

He stared at her, mouth hanging open. "So? This goes against all the laws of gods and men!"

She smiled. "We're alone, Jon. There is no one here to judge us. And if the gods exist, they won't be there to judge us when we die, either. You said there was nothing on the other side."

Jon clenched his fists. "That doesn't make it right."

Sansa bit her lip. "Perhaps it's not, but after everything we've been through, after all we've sacrificed and lost... Don't you think we deserve some happiness, Jon?"

She unwound the sash around her waist, letting her robe slide down her arms until it landed on the floor. Jon looked at his feet: "You deserve better than me. I have nothing to offer you."

"None of that seemed to bother you when you were kissing me!"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Sansa walked up to him, cradling his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Jon, I don't think I'll ever be able to let another man touch me like that. You're the only one I trust. Will you deny me that?"

He opened his mouth, thinking hard to come up with the right answer to that. "No, but..."

She rested her forehead against his, whispering: "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want this, and I'll never bring it up again."

She released him, waiting patiently, her hands folded in front of her chest as if in prayer. He tried hard not to notice the curves of her body under the thin fabric of her nightrail, which was almost transparent in the warm glow of the fire. He risked a brief glimpse at her face. Her smile was bright, her eyes were warm.  _Four simple words, Snow, four simple words._

Jon cupped her cheek in his hand and whispered: "You'll learn to trust again, Sansa. Someday you'll meet a good man who will treat you right. Someone brave, gentle and strong."

Sansa lowered her eyes. "I already have."

He let go of her face and sighed. "I'm sorry I kissed you. I shouldn't have. I didn't realize you were so confused."

She lifted her chin. "You're right. You shouldn't have kissed me... But I'm not the one who's confused."

Jon tried to reach for her arm, but she jerked it away. She looked at him. There was no warmth left in her eyes. "I want you to leave."

"Sansa, please."

Her lip started quivering, but her tone was ice. "Leave. Now."

Jon turned away from her, slamming the door behind him as he left the room.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa sank into the scalding hot, fragrant water and leaned her head back against the edge of the tub. She'd cried herself to sleep last night, for the first time in weeks. Jon had called her confused. Perhaps that was a kind way to describe the way she was feeling. The voice in her head sneered: _Repugnant_! _Vile! Sick!_ Ironic that that voice would sound like Cersei Lannister's.  _I told you love was weakness..._

 _No._ Strange as it might sound, she was definitely not confused. She hadn't been confused since she'd had that dream. After all she'd suffered over the last few years, Sansa had learned that there was no gain in denying an uncomfortable truth. It had been a week since her meeting with Lords Cerwyn and Manderly. She'd gone straight to bed that night, not even bothering to send word she wouldn't be attending supper. She'd been tossing and turning in her bed for hours, unable to force the images of Jon and Lady Karstark from her head. She hadn't even been consciously aware before of some of the things her mind had managed to conjure up. But the most painful was the tender look in Jon's eyes, the sweet smile on his soft lips.

She'd finally fallen asleep a few hours before dawn, which had left her exhausted by the time she'd retired again the next night. For the first time in months though, her sleep hadn't been plagued by nightmares. She hadn't been visited by the distressing visions of the night before either. Instead she had dreamed the most wonderful dream.

_She was lying amidst the furs on the high bed in the lord's chamber. A pair of warm strong arms were wrapped around her. They were both naked. Soft lips peppered her face with kisses, while a hand was stroking the length of her hair. She cuddled closer, stretching her neck. His nose brushed her throat before he nuzzled his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder, his fingers trailing patterns across the skin of her back. He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, chasing a trail between her breasts down to her belly button. He pressed his bearded cheek against her stomach, murmuring sweet nothings. She looked down to find Jon gazing up at her with those adoring warm eyes. His full lips parted and she heard his deep voice whisper: "I love you, the both of you."_

She'd woken up with sweet hot tears streaming down her face. Once again life was playing a cruel jape on her. She was no longer confused, she was in love with Jon Snow, her bastard half-brother. She almost wished that was all he was. If he hadn't been crowned king, it might have been easier. It was all her fault. Jon had just wanted to run south with her, perhaps cross the Narrow Sea, build a new life in Essos. But Sansa had wanted revenge, she had wanted her home back.  _You're still that stupid girl who only thinks about what she wants, neglecting what's already right in front of her._

She didn't know what had come over her when she'd told Jon  _"You're mine"_ last night. She'd been avoiding him, furious and disappointed that he would keep his betrothal to Alys Karstark from her; afraid that she might look at him and he'd see the truth about her feelings plain on her face. And then she'd just claimed him like that. But it didn't matter, because he'd answered  _"I'm yours"_ and he'd kissed her.

His kiss had been everything she'd dreamed of as a girl. His lips were soft and warm, his hands were gentle but firm. Of course, her thirteen-year old self couldn't have imagined the feel and taste of his tongue against hers or his hot hard body pressed to hers. That girl would have blushed at the shivers his lips on her jaw and the scratch of his beard had sent down her spine, at the heat pooling in her belly when he'd sucked at the delicate flesh behind her ear.

She'd felt as if her blood was singing and then she'd surprised herself by admitting she wanted more. At first Jon had promised to do anything for her. But then he'd realized what she was asking of him and he'd pulled away, appalled at her request. She'd tried to plead with him, reason with him, but it had been too late. She had ruined it, she'd scared him off. She'd directed her anger at him, but she knew the truth; she'd broken her own heart into a thousand pieces. 

Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes, disappearing completely into the cooling water to wash away the fresh tears. 


	7. Chapter 7

"Your Grace! Your Grace! He has yielded! You need to stop!"

Part of Jon's mind registered someone was shouting at him, but he couldn't make out the words. There was only the hot blood rushing through his veins, his ragged breath, his heart beating in his head as the sword in his hand kept hacking at the splintering shield. A firm hand gripped his shoulder then and he hurled around, ready to launch himself at his new attacker. He found himself nose to nose with Tormund, who was shaking him and roaring in his face. He snapped out of his fury and gradually his calm returned.

He spun around to look down at Cley Cerwyn, cowering under a broken shield, lying on his side in a puddle of his own making. He threw aside the dull blade and reached out for the man's hand. Cerwyn flinched and pushed himself to his feet, glaring at him. Jon's voice didn't sound like his own when he grunted: "My apologies, Lord Cerwyn. I don't know what came over me..."

He didn't wait for an answer but stalked out of the courtyard, the crowd parting for him automatically. As he made his way to the Godswood, he acknowledged he knew exactly what had come over him. Lord Cerwyn's marriage proposal had still been fresh in his mind when the man had challenged him to a sparring match in the courtyard. It hadn't been the first and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Jon had refused it, as he had all the others. Regardless of any recent developments, he knew Sansa did not wish to marry again. Jon had been disgusted by Cerwyn's smug look as he'd asked for her hand. He didn't like the man. A pompous aura clung to all his words and gestures, an arrogance Jon perceived as undeserved and unseemly.

It hadn't truly been Cley Cerwyn who had driven him into such a rage though. Jon realized it was another proposal that had left him unable to contain his anger. Littlefinger had come to him in the small council chamber after a meeting, lingering to make sure he'd be the last person in the room. Jon had already rebuffed him a couple of times, making up an excuse not to talk to him. But this time, Baelish had had him cornered. He'd folded his hands and turned his sly little smile on Jon.  _"Your Grace,"_ he'd rasped,  _"I'm sorry to claim more of your precious time, but I have urgent business to discuss with you."_

Jon had nodded at him curtly.  _"I think it is long past time we sealed our alliance, don't you agree? A marriage between the North and the Vale to strenghten our bonds?"_

Jon had been expecting it of course, but he'd decided to feign ignorance. He knew Littlefinger didn't have the highest opinion of him and at the moment he had no desire to convince him otherwise. _"I'm certain whatever noble maiden from the Vale you may suggest is as lovely as can be, but I'm not interested, Lord Baelish."_ '

Littlefinger had smirked at him. _"I'm afraid you've misunderstood, Your Grace. I'm asking for the Lady Sansa's hand in marriage_ \- he'd paused there - _"on behalf of Lord Robert Arryn."_

 _"_ Princess _Sansa,"_ Jon had insisted,  _"and Robin Arryn is too young to be married."_

 _"Perhaps,"_ Baelish had conceded,  _"but we could still discuss terms and sign a betrothal then, couldn't we?_ Princess  _Sansa could spend some time in the Eyrie, with her future husband. The North is a harsh place for a lady, especially in Winter. She'd be much more comfortable in the Vale."_

_"I don't think so, Lord Baelish. My sister wishes to remain in Winterfell and she does not wish to wed again. You only have yourself to thank for that."_

Jon had excused himself, barely concealing his fuming rage under an icy calm. He knew Baelish would stop at nothing to have Sansa for himself, to use her and set them up against each other. Jon felt the corners of his mouth tugging up. Turning Sansa against him would probably prove more difficult than Littlefinger anticipated... Unless...  _No._ Jon knew he'd hurt her, but Sansa wouldn't be so petty to be willing to betray him over that, would she? He knew he had hurt her, but he'd had no other choice.  _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

He had done the right thing. He had not taken advantage of her. He understood Sansa was fierce and strong in her own way, but he'd also seen how fragile and vulnerable she was underneath. He suspected he was the only person she'd opened up to in that way. He would not shame that trust by using her to satisfy his own unnatural desires. Yet he had to admit he'd never wanted anything this much in his life. He wanted to protect her, to give her everything she deserved, to love her and hold her until all her broken pieces fit back together. He wanted to be her hero, but he also wanted to be her lover. He laughed out loud. He sounded like one of those silly songs she'd loved as a girl. 

None of the heroes from those songs lusted for their own sister though.  _Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys,_ a small voice whispered in his head,  _you always wanted to be Aemon the Dragonknight, didn't you?_ That was exactly what he'd wanted as a boy, but not like this. Besides, Aemon and Naerys were Targaryens and he and Sansa were not.

"Your Grace," Davos Seaworth startled him out of his ponderings, "you seemed troubled."

Jon kept walking, inviting Ser Davos to follow him. "Aye, I'm troubled."

"Perhaps I could offer some advice..."

Jon chuckled. "Perhaps. Have you- if you know- if you wanted something, but you knew it was wrong, yet it felt so right, would you do it?"

Davos stopped to frown at him, folding his hands behind his back. "I don't know, Your Grace, it all sounds awfully vague. Perhaps more details would allow me to give you better counsel?"

Jon rubbed his beard. "More details? I- I'm sorry, but I can't give you those. It's a rather delicate matter."

Davos nodded. "I see. Would your actions harm or hurt anyone?"

Jon frowned.  _Would they?_ Surely nothing good could come from this. It was wrong. And after what had happened to Sansa... She seemed to think being with another man could somehow be... beneficial. But he couldn't imagine that. He could only imagine the horror and guilt if he ended up hurting her as well. He faced Ser Davos. "I don't know. I only know I might have hurt someone by not - by refusing to act."

"I'm afraid that doesn't make much sense."

"It doesn't, does it?"

"But I suppose matters of the heart rarely do."

Jon's eyes widened and his throat constricted. How did he guess that? Could he know? Ser Davos only smiled and bowed his head before leaving him alone again with his thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

The Great Hall erupted into a buzzing rumble the moment Lyanna Mormont finished reciting the letter they'd received from the Dragon Queen. They had just finished supper when Maester Barth had carried it in. From the back of the hall came a cry of "Fuck the dragons! Fuck the lions! Fuck them all!"

Sansa assumed it was a Flint or a Norrey. Jon was sitting by her side, fist clenched tightly around his cup, his mouth pressed into a thin line in a face that could have been carved from stone. Robett Glover rose to his feet, raising his hands. The crowd fell silent. "We don't need the South. What does it matter to us whether there's a Lannister or a Targaryen on the Iron Throne? The North has a King. If he wants a Queen, that Queen should be a proper Northern lass!"

"Begging your pardon, My Lord, I understand your sentiment and I admire the Northern spirit. But I don't see how you plan to hold off enemies from both the North and the South."

Ser Davos inclined his head to Sansa. "We've always known Cersei Lannister would be a threat. It seems likely now that she'll be defeated by this Daenerys Targaryen. After all, who could stand against three dragons? But there's no question she will turn her attention to us after that. She came back to Westeros to rule over Seven Kingdoms, not four or five, depending on our efforts in the Riverlands. It would be wise to at least consider this proposal."

Displeased murmurs started filling the hall again. Sansa risked a glance at Jon, who was still immobile, his knuckles white against the skin of his hands. Wyman Manderly was the next lord to take the floor. "Winter is here, this is no time for war. Ser Davos is right, we cannot afford to create another enemy. We should at least send someone to negotiate with the Dragon Queen."

Sansa scanned the room again. Littlefinger was sitting in the far corner, his legs crossed and an amused look on his face. The Knights of the Vale seemed to have decided to stay out of this discussion as well. She wondered whether there was more behind their apparent indifference. "We chose Jon Snow as our King," Lady Mormont reminded the other lords, "and we swore to stand behind him for the rest of his days. I will agree to whatever course my King might choose to take."

Alys Karstark jumped to her feet. "I'm in favour of this marriage. What better way to ensure the North's interests are met than to put a Northman on the Iron Throne?"

Cheers rose up from a couple of tables. Tormund Giantsbane cleared his throat. "I know I'm not familiar with your Kneeler ways... But I'm confused... How can Jon marry this Dragon Queen? He's already married, is he not? You gave him a cloak, he fought this war for you, he let you kill your previous husband..."

Sansa could feel her eyebrows rise and her mouth fall open. Tormund was looking straight at her. Jon almost dropped his cup. Guffaws and chuckles spread around the room. Sansa closed her mouth. "I- it doesn't work that way, Tormund. Besides, the King is my brother!"

Tormund smacked his lips. "I know he is, but as you say, he's a King now. Mance told us Kneeler Kings always marry their sisters."

Cley Cerwyn bellowed out: " _Targaryen_ Kings used to marry their own sisters, not us Northerners, you ignorant savage!"

Sansa thought she heard Ser Davos offer: "It's an interesting precedent though..."

Tormund ignored Cerwyn's insult. "So this Daenerys Targaryen doesn't have any brothers? That's why she wants Jon?"

Sansa focused on his last comment. "She wants to marry the King because she needs allies. And so do we. Why not form an alliance with the most powerful ally possible?"

At last, Jon rose to his feet, pushing his chair back. "Thank you for your counsel, My Lords. I'll take everything into consideration."

He turned to leave the hall and Sansa picked up her skirts to follow him. She took his arm, but Jon remained rigid at her side. Silently they made their way to her chambers. Jon sank down on a bench behind her bed. Sansa stood next to him, searching for words, before deciding to disappear into her dressing room to change into her nightrail and give him some time alone. 

When she emerged from the other room, he was still staring into nothingness. Sansa kneeled in front of him, putting his hand on her cheek, leaning into his touch. Finally he looked up at her, pain and sadness apparent in his eyes. He whispered: "Is this your way of punishing me?"

Sansa's lips parted in surprise. "Punish you? For what?"

She sighed. "You made yourself clear, Jon... Tell me, were you going to marry me?"

He blinked. "That isn't fair. You know we can't..."

She shrugged. "Perhaps not. So you might as well marry someone else. Especially if that person has three dragons and the largest and fiercest army in all the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon pulled her up until she was standing again, circling his arms around her waist and resting his cheek against her belly. He croaked out: "I don't want to marry this Dragon Queen."

She helped him to his feet as well and framed his face in her hands. "I know, Jon, but you're a King now. Your life doesn't belong to yourself."

He gazed into her eyes. "It never has. But I liked it better when it belonged to you."

Sansa's heart almost burst out of her chest at the tenderness and sincerity in his voice. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. "Will you stay with me tonight, Jon?"

He stiffened in her embrace. Her name came out sounding like a warning: "Sansa..."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to force myself on you, Jon. Just stay with me, please? If I'm going to lose you, I want to spend as much time with you as possible before you leave."

She felt the rumble in his chest when he agreed. She took his hand to lead him to the bed. She climbed in. When he had stripped down to his tunic and long linen underpants, he followed her. He lay flat on his back, at the far side of the bed, keeping his distance. Sansa crept closer, draping her arm over his chest and nestling her head in the crook of his arm. After a couple of minutes, he relaxed and gingerly put an arm around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and smiled.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Jon and Sansa were almost two weeks into their new sleeping arrangements now. After that first night they'd agreed it would be better for Sansa to come to Jon's chambers. The downside of that decision was that it was a lot colder in there than it was in the Lady's Chambers. Sansa would use it as an excuse to wrap herself around him as tightly as possible to get warm at night. And Jon was unable to refuse her. He knew she wasn't lying about being cold. Her fingers and toes were icicles whenever she crawled into bed with him and she'd usually lie shivering for the first few minutes before relaxing and dozing off.

He also suspected however, that she was perfectly aware of the sweet torture it caused him. The feel of her soft curves pressed against his body, the smell of her hair and skin, the patches of creamy, silky skin revealed to him where her nightrail was pulled away from her shoulders and legs were all so overwhelming. In the soft light from the fire, she would be close enough for him to count her eyelashes and the freckles on her nose. 

How often had he imagined exploring that gorgeous body with his hands and lips? How often had he been tempted to hold her even closer and kiss her into oblivion? He tried to forget that time he'd wanted to roll her on her back and cover her with his body to sink into her. He refused to let his mind wander to that waking dream of pulling her on top of him and grinding her down on his aching cock.

After conjuring up that image, he'd actually needed to sneak out from under the furs, unsure whether he should try to take care of the problem himself. He'd decided taking himself in hand with that vision still in his mind and her smell clinging to every inch of his body would only make things worse. He'd flung his cloak over his underclothes, venturing outside to lie down in the fresh snow until he regained control over his body again. 

Last night, when he could tell by her even breathing she'd fallen asleep, he'd rolled away from her, curling up on his right side. But even in her sleep she'd followed him, pressing her face and breasts against his back, curling her arm over his waist and pulling her legs up until he was lying in her lap. When her hand had slumped dangerously downward, he'd grabbed it and pinned it to his chest. Somehow he'd managed to fall asleep.

When Jon opened his eyes to watery sunlight filtering through the curtains, he noticed they had changed positions overnight. The front of his body was pressed against Sansa's back, his face buried in her hair and his arm tucked under hers, holding his hand in place where it was cupping her left breast. Slowly he became aware that his cock was hard as Valyrian steel and firmly nestled in the crease of her arse. 

His heart started beating frantically. He needed to figure out how to get out of the bed without waking her, or worse, letting her notice what he was doing. He tried to move his arm, but she only pinned him to her more tightly. She pressed back a little and the lovely friction made his hardness throb against her. He had to swallow back a moan. She stirred again, but then her arm slackened and the rest of her body went rigid.

Jon pulled away abruptly, jumping off the bed and stuttering out apologies. Sansa didn't answer, she just tumbled down onto her back, staring up at the baldachin over the bed. Slowly, carefully, he walked around to her side of the bed. "Sansa?"

There still came no response. Her eyes were glassy, staring into a distance he could not see and her hands were balled into fists. _What have I done?_ He tried again. "Sansa? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to hurt you. Can you hear me? It's Jon."

She jerked her head in his direction at the sound of his name, sitting up, still seeing nothing. Hopeful at triggering a reaction from her, he took one step closer to the bed, reaching for her hand. "Sansa, look at me. Do you recognize my face? It's me, Jon."

Awareness seemed to be seeping back into her eyes as she mouthed his name. She blinked and collapsed. He lunged forward to catch her. She slumped against his chest, shaking in his arms. "I'm sorry, Sansa, I'm sorry."

"He's gone," she breathed, "it's just you and me now."

Jon started rubbing her back, whispering into her hair: "Yes, that's right. Please, don't hate me."

"I don't hate you. You just startled me, that's all. It won't happen again."

Jon continued rubbing his hands up and down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  _No, it won't._

 


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa was sitting in Jon's chamber, sharing a cup of ale with him. She sipped from the cup and offered it back to him. He accepted it in silence. She'd tried to strike up a conversation a couple of times in the last few hours, but Jon had hardly responded to any of her questions or remarks. He just sat there, bent forward, staring into the fire. Sansa clasped her hands in her lap, wondering whether she should ask what was bothering him. Of course she already knew, but perhaps it would be better to pretend she'd already forgotten it. Jon rose up from his seat by the fireplace. "It's late," he said, walking to the door, "we should try to get some sleep."

Sansa followed him, surprised when he opened the door and turned around to face her. She stared at him, feeling her bottom lip trembling, hearing the crack in her own voice: "Are you asking me to leave?"

Jon closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "I am."

She forced back a sob. "Why?"

He strode past her. "You know why."

She turned around, tentatively stretching out her hand and putting it on his shoulder. "Jon, what happened this morning..."

She could feel his muscles tense under her touch. He flexed his hands. She swallowed and whispered: "It wasn't your fault."

Jon shook off her hand and whirled around. He was fuming. "How can you say that? Of course it was my fault!"

Sansa noticed he couldn't meet her eyes. "Not really," she tried, "I know you can't help it."

She wasn't an innocent. She knew men woke up like that. Nothing would have happened if Jon had been alone in his bed, or if they had woken up in another position. Nothing would have happened if the unexpected sensation of his hardness there hadn't triggered that awful memory from her. "It was me."

"Please. Don't."

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with guilt and disgust. "It doesn't matter. We can't do this anymore. It's not proper."

She huffed. "Not proper? I'll tell you what's not proper! You know perfectly well that the last two weeks have been the first in months that I've actually been able to sleep properly! You know about the nightmares! You promised to protect me and now you're breaking that promise!"

He roared at her: "I  _am_ protecting you!"

She opened her mouth to ask him what exactly he was protecting her from, but he held up a hand and shook his head. "I'll order Ghost to come with you. He can sleep in your room if you want to."

She crossed her hands in front of her chest. "It's not the same!"

"I know it's not the same! That's the bloody point!"

Sansa could no longer contain her tears, she screamed at him: "I hate you!"

She turned around and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Jon's knees buckled. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the door. He'd done it again. Whenever he decided to do what was best for Sansa, whenever he tried to do the right thing, he ended up hurting her. And now she hated him. He had hoped that she would agree that it was better for them not to share a bed, at least for tonight. He should have known better. Of course she had to complicate things again. The odd thing was that he was under the impression that what she wanted didn't seem complicated at all to Sansa. Perhaps he was the fool making things more difficult than they were.

 _No. I'm doing the right thing._ What had happened that morning was proof enough. Sansa wasn't ready for such intimacies, even if she wanted them. Even if he wanted them. He shouldn't even be contemplating it. What they felt was wrong. Jon didn't even try to imagine what their father would think if he could see them now. He had no trouble envisioning Lady Catelyn's reaction. She would have throttled him with her own hands if she'd even seen him look at Sansa the wrong way.

Jon told himself he just had to carry on for a little while longer. Soon they'd part ways and Sansa would have a real chance at a happy life. He didn't know what would happen to him, but he hadn't expected to survive the coming war anyway. He'd never been South, until recently he hadn't expected to see anything other than the Wall for the rest of his life. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He'd get to see dragons. He might even be able to convince this Queen Daenerys to use them in the war against the White Walkers. He reckoned three dragons could be a decisive advantage. Fire was exactly what they needed against the wights.

He knew he would never get what he wanted, but he'd accepted that a long time ago. He would always be that nameless bastard destined to give up his life to protect others. At least now he knew it would be Sansa he'd be sacrificing himself for. Perhaps that was the greatest happiness life would allow him. He stood up from the floor, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. He grabbed up his cloak from where he'd dropped it earlier and left the room. 

Jon roamed the dark halls in silence, pausing here and there to touch his hand to the stone walls or relive a happy memory. Finally he ventured out into the courtyard to climb the battlements. He greeted the guards and dismissed them, telling them to take an hour off duty. He stood there with closed eyes, inhaling the pure air and enjoying the feeling of the cold wind in his hair. He tried to banish all conscious thought from his mind, focusing on his surroundings.

He realized an hour or longer must have passed when the guards returned. He remained to talk with the men for a while, before returning inside. This time he took another route back to the family quarters, recalling different memories. He heard the screams as soon as he entered the hallway to his chambers.

Jon bolted for Sansa's door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He threw his full weight against the door and on the third try it cracked open. There was no one there but Sansa, curled up in the middle of the bed, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. He was on the bed in a moment. When she saw him, she stretched out her arms, clawing at his jerkin. He hugged her to his chest and tucked her head under his chin, rubbing circles into the skin of her back and smoothing back her hair. "Ssshh, it was only a dream. It's not real. I'm here now."

Sansa clung to him as if her life depended on it. He took one look at the ruined door and decided to take her back to his own bedchamber. He swept her up in his arms and carried her there, somehow managing to open the door with his elbow. Gently he put her down on the bed to turn back and close the door. She squeaked out: "Please, don't leave me alone, Jon!"

He pressed a kiss to her temple and hurried to close the door. When he returned to her side, she started pulling at the fastenings of his cloak and jerkin. "I need you here."

"Sssh, let me take these off and I'll be right with you."

When he'd done as he said, he climbed onto the bed and gathered her in his arms, gently rocking her. He rubbed his nose against her temple and kissed her cheek. He repeated the motions until he felt her body relax. She whispered: "It was so real. I thought he'd come back and I was going to live through all of that again."

"But it wasn't, Sansa. It wasn't real. He's dead. He's not coming back."

She nodded. "I know that, but still, I can't get rid of him."

He pushed her back a bit to look her in the eyes. "I wish I could help you..."

She smiled at him. "You already do. You really do. And you could do more, but..."

Jon pulled her back to his chest. "Please, Sansa, not now. Just sleep now. We'll talk about it some other time."

He could feel her hesitation, but then she sighed and asked: "Will you stay?"

He kissed the top of her head. "I will."


	12. Chapter 12

Jon sat watching Sansa from a chair by the side of the bed. She was lying on her stomach, her mouth slightly open and her hair a tangled mess. When she started to stir, she stretched out her arm, patting the sheets and furs next to her. She used her hands to push herself up, gazing around sleepily. A grin spread across her face when her eyes caught sight of him. He offered her a half-smile back. She picked up one of the furs to wrap it around her shoulders, as she lowered herself from the bed. She walked over to him and sat down on his knee.

Her right hand held the fur to her chest as her left played with the lacings on his tunic. Several minutes passed as she sat there staring down, while Jon examined her face. Finally he decided to break the silence. "How are you feeling?'

Sansa didn't look up. "Better, I suppose, but I feel so tired."

"Perhaps you should go back to sleep then."

She shook her head and bit her lip, before murmuring in a small voice: "Jon, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it when I said I hated you. Can you forgive me?"

He lifted her chin with one finger. "There's nothing to forgive."

She nodded and turned around, repositioning herself so she was straddling his lap, resting her hands on his shoulders. He retracted his arms until his hands were gripping the arm-rests and thought about pushing her away, but found himself too exhausted for the struggle. She looked up to him. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about. I know Brienne has only been back for a couple of days, but I want her to accompany you when you go South."

Jon frowned. "Brienne is  _your_ sworn shield."

"Exactly. So if I ask her to protect  _you,_ she will."

He lifted his hands and let them fall back. "What about you? Who's going to protect you?"

"Tormund will remain in Winterfell for a couple of months."

He snickered. "I didn't know you'd grown so fond of Tormund."

Sansa shrugged. "I trust him. He doesn't have a dishonest bone in his body."

He couldn't disagree with her assessment, but still didn't feel comfortable about her proposal. "Tormund can't watch over you all the time. And Baelish is still here... What if he tries..."

He knew Sansa understood without him finishing the question. "Don't worry, I can handle him. And if not, I'll have Ghost, remember?"

He nodded. Knowing Ghost would remain here to protect Sansa did reassure him. She continued, looking down again. "I'll be fine, Jon. This is my home. But you're going South, you don't know how dangerous that place is... I'd feel more comfortable knowing you had Brienne there. She's strong and loyal, she'll have your back if it comes to that."

Jon chuckled in earnest now. Sansa jerked her chin up. "What?"

He smiled. "Nothing. Just the idea of you wanting to protect me."

She glared at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you mocking me?"

He shook his head, raising his hand to brush some stray hairs from her forehead. "No, I like it. You're such a fierce little she-wolf."

They laughed together, inclining their heads until their noses almost brushed together. Sansa whispered: "No one has ever called me a wolf before. All they ever called me was little bird."

Jon breathed: "They're all fools, whoever they are."

Sansa searched his eyes, flicking her tongue over her bottom lip, dropping her deep blue glance to his mouth and then leaned forward until their lips touched. She curled her fingers into his hair. Jon realized that his sleepless night and the emotional turmoil must have broken his resolve, as he failed to refuse her. His eyes shut and he put his hands on her waist to pull her closer. He felt her eagerness swell as she acknowledged his lack of resistance. She skimmed the tip of her tongue over the seam of his mouth and he parted his lips. She brushed her tongue over his, gently urging him to respond. And he yielded. He caressed her tongue with his, nudging it back so he could stroke and nibble at her lips and slip into her mouth. She tasted a little bitter, but he didn't care, as he hadn't felt this good in weeks.

Finally she pulled away, blue eyes ablaze. She leaned her forehead against his, struggling for breath.  _If this is supposed to be wrong, why does it feel so right?_ Her breath washed over his face. "Thank you."

Jon opened his eyes. The sadness had returned to her face. "What is it?"

Sansa draped her arms around his neck, rubbing her cheek against his. "You give me so much and still I want more. I must be a greedy woman."

 _Then I must be an extremely greedy man._ "We really shouldn't."

 _Not we shouldn't, why didn't you simply say we can't?_ She only shrugged. He still didn't understand why that seemed to bother her so little, when it utterly tore him to pieces. "I'm so afraid to hurt you. I don't think you're ready for this..."

"We won't find out unless we try. Won't you allow me this, as a parting gift?"

He pulled her into a closer embrace. "You don't know what you're asking. It would only hurt so much more when we say goodbye."

"I know it would be worth it."


	13. Chapter 13

Sansa was standing in front of the mirror in her dressing room. Jon was set to leave Winterfell in two days, so she'd decided tonight she would make her final attempt. She'd brushed her hair out until it flowed down her back in a shiny river of auburn. She'd put on a thin nightrail adorned with blue ribbons that brought out the colour of her eyes. She slipped on a warm robe and slid her feet into a pair of soft slippers before leaving the room to visit Jon.

She didn't bother to knock, but opened the door and entered to find him sitting on the bed, pulling off his boots. She hurried over to step into his embrace, throwing her arms around his neck and crushing their lips together. His hands found their way into her hair and he kissed her deeply. She knew he'd allow it for a couple more minutes, then gently untangle them and push her away. She couldn't let that happen tonight, so she untied her bedrobe, letting it fall to the floor where it pooled around her feet and she climbed into his lap.

Sansa pressed the front of her body flush againt Jon's and carded her fingers into his hair, releasing it from his customary bun. Pure joy was coursing through her veins at the feeling of his warm hands exploring her back, and an unfamiliar ache was building deep in her belly. He released a groan and she moaned into his mouth. "Please, Jon, I need you."

He released her mouth and moved his lips to her jawline, trailing kisses up to her ear. He grazed her earlobe with his teeth and whispered: "I know what you want, Sansa, but there's something else I could do to make you feel good. I think you'd like it very much."

He continued down, licking and nibbling at her neck. She managed to make a sound to indicate she'd heard him. He paused to say: "I would like to kiss you."

"You are kissing me."

"No, I mean, I'd like to kiss you down there, between your legs."

"Oh."

Sansa could feel her face flush. That was probably the most wicked thing she'd ever heard. She tried to imagine it. The idea sent a jolt of pleasure down her centre, but it also made her feel a bit queasy. "I- I don't know, Jon."

He caught the end of one of the ribbons on her shoulder strap between his teeth and pulled. "I promise to stop if you ask me to, but I'm quite sure you won't."

He slid his hand under the fabric covering her shoulder to ease it off and her stomach flipped. She pushed against his chest and scrambled to her feet. She stood there, hugging herself and rubbing her arms. Jon's face fell, his eyes turned sad and he held out his palms, whispering: "Please, don't be afraid of me..."

Sansa tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "I'm not."

Displaying her naked body, vulnerable and marred with hideous scars suddenly terrified her, even if it was Jon looking at her and touching her. She tried to find the words to explain it to him. "It's just... I can't be exposed like that, it's too much."

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a wistful smile and he nodded. She closed the distance between them to pull him into a hug, hoping it could convey how much his response meant to her. She thought she might crush him in her arms when he whispered: "You're so brave."

She only nodded. "Can you go first?"

Jon pulled away to frown at her. "I mean - Take off your clothes!"

He grinned and stepped around her, waiting for her to turn to him before eagerly pulling off his jerkin and breeches. He was beautiful. The muscles in his arms and shoulders rolled under fair, smooth skin as he removed his tunic. Dark hair dusted his chest and curled around his belly button, converging into a neat line that disappeared into his smallclothes. Sansa gasped as her eyes refocused on the ragged, angry red scars covering his chest and stomach. Tears sprang into her eyes. She stretched out her hand to trace the scars with her finger. Jon shivered under her touch.

She inclined her head to press her lips to the scar over his heart, resting her hands on his collarbones. She moved down to kiss all his other scars. He jerked away when her lips touched the one closest to the waistband of his smallclothes. He pulled her up for another kiss and she started to push him toward the bed. He tumbled back on top of it and scooted up until he was lying flat on his back. She climbed up after him to straddle his hips.

Jon was looking up at her, his eyes dark and intense. Sansa stared back. "I want to touch you, but I'd prefer it if you didn't touch me back yet."

He nodded. She bent down to press a kiss to his lips. Then she kissed her way down his face and neck to his sternum. She stroked her fingers down his chest. He shuddered and moaned as her fingernails raked his nipples. When she adjusted her hips, she felt his hardness press against her centre. She moved down to circle his belly button and hooked her fingers into his smallclothes to pull them all the way down over his feet. She returned her attention to his lower stomach and studied his manhood. It was thicker than she'd expected, standing out tall and proud from a thatch of coarse dark curls. 

Curiously Sansa wrapped her hand around it. Jon bucked up his hips and whispered: "Sorry!"

It felt warm and solid in her hand, not at all unpleasant. She tried stroking it up and down. Jon groaned and fisted his hands into the furs. She squeezed and twisted it lightly, circling her thumb over the liquid that welled up under it, drawing more grumbling sounds from Jon's throat. She let her nails skim over his balls. Jon had said he'd like to kiss her between her legs. She wondered if she could do the same. She was certain she'd heard Shae whisper about it once. She bent down her head, placing her lips first on the wrinkled skin between his balls. Jon cried out and pulled a pillow over his face. She flicked her tongue out to run it up his length and then swirled it around its head. She licked and sucked at it as she was used to doing with his tongue. Jon huffed out: "What are you doing to me?"

Startled, she pulled back. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, please, it feels good. Almost too good."

Sansa grinned and returned to her task. After a while, Jon's moans became more desperate and her tongue grew sore, so she closed her lips around him and started bobbing her head up and down to mimick the movement she'd made with her hand. She was stunned when her mouth filled with something warm and slightly bitter. Her lips parted in surprise and some of it ran down her chin. She quickly closed her mouth and swallowed. Jon pulled her up into his arms. She noticed he was panting and sweat was glistening on his chest. He wheezed out: "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting it yet. I should have warned you."

She smiled at him and kissed him. If he noticed his seed on her lips, he didn't seem to mind. They lay cuddling for a while, until Jon asked: "Can I please see you now?"

Sansa considered his question. She'd seen his scars and he'd surrendered himself to her so willingly. She nodded and sat up to pull her nightrail over her head. Jon pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. She couldn't meet his eyes. "I have scars too."

Jon shook his head. "You're incredibly beautiful. I can hardly believe you're real."

He pulled her down so that they were lying on their sides facing each other. He kissed her again, starting with her mouth and slowly moving down her body. "Is this alright?"

She nodded weakly. He slipped an arm under her to wrap it around her back. With his other hand, he started stroking her breast. She gasped when he closed his mouth over her nipple. A shock of pleasure shot through her body. He caressed and sucked at her breasts until she mewled and felt an odd dampness between her legs. Jon kissed a trail of hot wet kisses down her stomach, flicking his tongue over her belly button. "Can I show you now?"

Sansa uttered a breathy "Yes!"

She felt Jon gently tug down her smallclothes. She glanced down to find him looking up to her, the question clear in his eyes. She nodded. He kissed the hair on her mound and then pulled her left leg up over his shoulder, cupping her arse cheek in his hand. He moved his head lower and kissed the insides of her thighs, tickling her with his beard, before dragging his tongue up her slit. Sansa gulped at the throbbing sensation it caused between her legs. Jon groaned. "You taste wonderful."

His tongue started exploring her nether regions as her mind slowly disappeared into a haze she had never experienced before. An unfamiliar pressure was building at her centre. Jon's hand came up to stroke her breasts. Suddenly his lips closed around a sensitive spot and he started sucking. It felt so good it almost hurt. She moaned and arched her back, her hands flying down to fist themselves into his curls. The ache in her loins only grew and she found herself grinding her hips against his face. She felt as if something inside her was being stretched out so far it would certainly snap.

Sansa dug her left heel into the muscles of Jon's back. She felt his tongue stabbing and circling at that curious nub as his left hand kneaded her arse and his right teased her nipples. She felt a hot liquid dripping from her core. Suddenly Sansa's eyes rolled back into her head and she shattered, sobbing out a cry. A thousand stars exploded in front of her eyes. She thought it was over when another, smaller wave took her, again and again. Jon pressed the flat of his tongue against her, soothing her. She fell back against the mattress in a boneless heap.

He kissed his way back up her body. When he captured her lips, Sansa could taste herself on his tongue, sweet and sharp and tangy. She opened her eyes to see his beard glistening with her juices. When he nuzzled his face against her cheek and pressed himself against her side, she could feel that he was hard and ready again. She whimpered: "Jon, I want more!"

He cupped her cheek so he could look her in the eyes. "Are you sure?"

She met his gaze with unwavering eyes and nodded. He released her face to move his hand down between her legs. She bucked her hips up when his fingers brushed her most sensitive spot and slipped between her folds. Jon entered her with one finger and Sansa huffed out a sound of surprise. Jon gasped. "Gods, you're so hot and wet!"

"Is that good?" she asked in a small voice.

"Very good," he answered, rolling on top of her. She spread her legs for him and he moved a hand between their bodies to position himself at her entrance. He looked into her eyes again. She nodded, offering him an encouraging smile. Slowly he pushed forward and she could feel him stretching her open. He buried his face in her neck and muttered: "They say there are seven hells, but you feel like seven heavens."

Sansa tried to relax. The sensation of him inside her wasn't unpleasant. It didn't hurt and she didn't feel invaded or violated. She felt filled and oddly satisfied. Still she stiffened at the weight of his body on top of her. Jon pulled back a little, resting most of his weight on his arms to study her face. His shape looming over her like that didn't really help matters. "Are you alright?"

He peppered her face with kisses, which soothed her a bit, but not enough. She rubbed her hands up and down his back awkwardly. "We can stop. You just have to tell me."

"No!" she practically shouted. He started moving inside her. She flinched. He stopped immediately. Then he wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over, so that she was straddling him again. He twined his fingers through hers and looked her in the eyes. "Like this?"

He thrust up into her once to guide her. Cautiously she rolled her hips, causing Jon to moan, and Sansa found that she could indeed focus on the pleasure instead of the terror like this. She smiled at him and rocked her hips back and forth, hesitantly at first, but slowly growing more confident. He felt so good inside of her. With every thrust, she pushed against his hands. He kept his adoring eyes on her face, dropping his gaze to her bouncing breasts from time to time. "You're a vision. You're the most gorgeous woman in all the Seven Kindoms. Will you come for me again?"

 Jon released her left hand to slide his right between their bodies, rubbing his thumb at her most sensitive spot and soon Sansa erupted around him, squeezing him, crying out his name. She collapsed on top of his chest and he gathered her in his arms, sitting up. He pulled her in for a kiss and started pounding into her. When she had come down, she pushed against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. As their bodies moved in unity, Sansa lost herself, forgetting where she ended and Jon began. Time became meaningless and everything around them dissolved. There were only the two of them, becoming one in mind, body and soul. When he spilled his hot seed inside her with her name on his lips, she followed him over the edge one last time.

Jon slumped back, pulling her with him. When they'd both caught their breaths, they kissed and embraced each other, rolling onto their sides, laughing and smiling. Sansa was the first to speak. "Thank you. I didn't know it could be like this."

He caressed her hair, a frown forming on his face. "I shouldn't have spilled inside you. I may have put a bastard in your belly."

She sighed and kissed him. "In all those months with - Ramsay, I never conceived. I think something might be wrong with me. I might be unable to... And I wouldn't care if you had, Jon. It would make me happy to have a child by you....  And he would be a Stark, not a Snow, because I'd command it to be so."

He remained silent. She tucked her head under his chin. "Perhaps she'll let you visit me from time to time."

He went rigid at her side, his voice sounded shocked. "Sansa, you can't mean - I wouldn't do that to you!"

She shrugged. "I'll take whatever part of you I can."

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "You'll find someone else."

"Someone like you?"

Jon's chest rumbled. "Aye, if that's what you want."

Sansa rubbed her nose against his collarbone. "There are no men like you. Only you."

 


	14. Chapter 14

Jon was listening to Sansa's heartbeat as his head shifted slightly up and down where it was resting between her bare breasts. Her one hand was holding his to her shoulder as her other traced random patterns across his upper back. This was only their second night together and it would be their last. He had been determined to resist her advances, but the looming threat of their upcoming separation had finally pushed him over the edge. Now he wished he had given in sooner. He exhaled in a heavy sigh. "There must be another way."

It took her a couple of minutes to answer, during which he felt her breathing grow a little uneven. "You know the Northern lords will never bend the knee to her."

"She has three dragons. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror because he had three dragons. Surely they will see the sense in that..."

Sansa ran her thumb over his knuckles. "Torrhen Stark didn't have another option."

Jon rubbed his cheek against her skin. "Perhaps I could persuade her into an alliance without a marriage. I could convince her we're not her enemies."

"Perhaps... But she'll probably consider it too much of a risk."

He felt the anger rising in his chest. He'd done everything in his power to keep Sansa out of another unwanted marriage and now he was the one being sold off for the good of the kingdom. It wasn't fair.  _It's not her fault, it's not anybody's fault._ They just didn't have another choice. "It wouldn't have to be a real marriage though, would it? I wouldn't be expected to actually..."

Her body tensed under his, her hand fell silent on his back. Her voice came out strangled. "Yes, it would. A marriage isn't valid until it is consummated. And you'll both need heirs."

He turned their hands to twine his fingers through hers and bring them to his lips. "I won't. If I have to sell myself to her, I'll make her pay an appropriate price. The North will have its independence and you will be its Queen. I have arranged and signed all the paperwork. If you ever choose to marry, your children will be Starks and your husband will be a Prince Consort, but nothing more."

Sansa sobbed out Jon's name and pulled his face up to hers to kiss him. She tasted of tears and desperate want. "You have always been my true Queen and you always will be."

She pressed their foreheads together. "And you are my hero, Jon. I stopped believing in the songs a long time ago. Until I found you again... Which reminds me... I have something for you."

Jon sat up to watch Sansa jump from the bed and pad over to the chair where she'd shed her dress earlier. She climbed back on with a smirk on her face. She knelt down in front of him, offering him her balled fist. "I thought a direwolf would be a bit obvious, but it should still remind you of the North."

He held up his palm and she dropped a small object hanging from a silver chain into it. He examined it. It was a silver locket wrought in the shape of a winter rose inlaid with sapphires. "It's lovely, but I'm sure it would look prettier on you."

She laughed. "Open it!"

He did and found a lock of Sansa's hair pinned to the inside of the locket. "So you'll have something to remember me by."

He closed it again and hung the chain around his neck. He grabbed her waist to pull her closer and brushed his nose against hers. "I don't need some trinket to remember you. You'll always be with me."

She put her hands on his chest. "I know. But I have Winterfell and Ghost to remind me of you. I wanted you to have something of me as well. And I've always wanted to give a man my favour."

Jon captured her lips in a hungry kiss. Sansa giggled as he rolled onto his back, dragging her on top of him.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Jon or Sansa in the next two or three chapters. Just Jaime Lannister with an update about life in King's Landing in this one.

It had been weeks since Jaime had returned to King's Landing and the Great Sept of Baelor was still smouldering. As were several other buildings in the city. Riots had broken out after Cersei had executed her plans to destroy the Tyrells and the High Sparrow. He knew the disturbances had little to do with the smallfolk's love for either the faith or their Queen and everything with the fact that they had been the masses' sole providers of shelter and food. Famine reigned the capital, driving people who'd had little to lose to begin with into acts of desperation. Last night a man had literally been torn to pieces over half a loaf of bread and he hadn't been the first. 

Cersei had tried to take measures against the continuing uprisings, every next one of them as ineffectual as the last. The curfew she'd installed was broken almost every night and her last attempt to silence the bakers' complaint about flour no longer coming into the city had resulted in bloodshed. Even the most minor offences had become punishable by death or a life sentence in the Black Cells. Those cells were overflowing despite the pace at which Qyburn was turning their residents into dead bodies and more unsavoury things.

Meanwhile Cersei had withdrawn into her private quarters, allowing only Qyburn and the monstrosity that had been Gregor Clegane into her chambers. The last time he'd spoken to her had been after her coronation. She'd glided past him, pretending she didn't see him. He'd clutched her by the sleeve, causing the Mountain to lunge in his direction. Cersei had stretched her palm out to stop him. She'd turned her dead eyes on Jaime and asked in a flat voice: _"What?"_

His voice had cracked when he'd asked:  _"Tommen?"_

She hadn't even flinched, had only blinked once and answered:  _"Dead. Jumped from a window."_

After that she'd picked up her skirts and continued on. He hadn't seen her since. She hadn't even bothered to respond to his daily attempts to be allowed into her chambers. Bronn had caught him trying to bust down her door. He'd leaned against the wall, an amused look on his face, sneering at him:  _"Need any help?"_

He'd answered:  _"I need to see her. She's grieving, she needs help."_

Bronn had smirked at him and muttered: " _Looks to me she doesn't want you there. Your children were the only thing keeping her on the edge of insanity. She's all out of children, seems she's finally gone over. She's beyond any help you could give her."_

After a final clank of his golden hand against the door, Jaime had turned around and stormed out.

Today however, Cersei had summoned him for a meeting of her Small Council, which was made up of her, Qyburn and some bastard named Waters. The Gods knew what hole she'd dragged that one from. When he arrived to the meeting ten minutes early, a guard in Lannister colours led him into his sister's solar. All the curtains were drawn, making the room almost as dark as if it were night. The air inside was stale and smelled heavily of wine and rotting food. Cersei was already sitting at the head of the ornately carved table, a cup in hand, illuminated by a couple of candles. The Mountain was hovering a few feet behind her. She had deep dark circles under her eyes, her skin was blotchy and her lips were chapped. But the worst was the hollow look in her eyes. Her lips curled up twisting her face into some mockery of a smile. 

Before Jaime could think of anything to say, the rest of the Small Council entered. Qyburn took a seat at Cersei's right side, the silver-haired bastard sat down opposite him. Jaime pulled out the chair at the end nearest to him, sitting down right across from Cersei. She inclined her head to Aurane Waters. He nodded and declared: "It seems the rumours are true, Your Grace. The Ironborn rebels have been spotted on the Narrow Sea amidst ships bearing Martell and Tyrell sails. There were also some other banners, a rearing horse, I believe and..."

Waters hesitated, glancing at the faces around the table. "A three-headed dragon."

Cersei snorted. "So the little Targaryen whore has allied herself with my enemies. How clever of her."

Waters cleared his throat. "Indeed, Your Grace, but there are other reports... My informers tell me Daenerys Targaryen brings three full grown dragons with her."

The Queen took a long gulp from her cup, holding it out to be refilled. "Yes, yes, those stories about her  _dragons_ have been around for years now. I'll believe them when I see one. Tell me, are things still going according to plan with regard to the Ironborn?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Then we have no reason to worry about the Southern Alliance, do we? Very well then. What news do you have for me, Qyburn?"

Qyburn tilted his head. "Your Grace, we found out that Sansa Stark indeed ran away from her Bolton husband, but she's returned to Winterfell now."

"Good, if we know where she is, Lord Baelish can finally fulfill his promise. I wonder what's been taking him so long anyway. So Bolton has warded off the Wildling invaders who attacked Winterfell?"

Qyburn wrung his hands together. "Well, not exactly, Your Grace. It seems the Wildling army took Winterfell with the help of Lord Baelish and the Knights of the Vale."

Cersei banged her cup down on the table. "What?"

Jaime snorted. Qyburn's news didn't make any sense. Why would Littlefinger side with a band of savages? "Yes, Your Grace. It seems they were acting on orders from the Stark girl. And that's not all. It seems she killed her husband and then she..."

"Tell me!" Cersei spit out through clenched teeth.

"She married her bastard brother and crowned him King in the North and King of the Trident and the Vale."

 _Well, it seems little Sansa Stark has grown up quite a bit._ Cersei's mouth fell open and she barked out a laugh. "She what?"

She guzzled down some more wine and erupted into a fit of giggles, red liquid snorting from her nose. "Refill my cup," she coughed out, "I'll drink to that!"

Jaime watched in horror as his sister kept losing the struggle against hysterical bouts of laughter. Aurane Waters lifted his hand, as if to touch her arm, but thought better of it. Qyburn kept his eyes on his hands. Finally Cersei collected herself and met Jaime's gaze for the first time, declaring in an icy voice: "I want the wolf bitch dead. Her and that brother-husband of hers. Who does she think they are? Does she think she can take my throne by pretending they are Targaryens? I want you to take our army North and burn Winterfell down to the ground. Don't kill them yet though. I want to see the look on her face when I tear her brother apart, piece by piece. I want to smile down at her while I burn her alive... You're all dismissed."

Aurane Waters cried out: "Your Grace, we still need to discuss the condition of the city!"

Cersei pursed her lips. "The condition of the city is the same as it was yesterday and it won't be that different tomorrow."

Qyburn retreated, bowing to her and Waters hurried out of the room. Jaime stayed in his seat. Cersei was looking everywhere but at him. "So... You're sending me away again?"

She tilted her chin up and smiled. "I'm your Queen. It is your duty to serve me."

Jaime pushed his chair back, jumping to his feet. "I could serve you better if I remained by your side. Follow Sansa Stark's example. Marry me. No one's going to stop us now."

She threw her head back and laughed. "I can't."

Rage was bubbling up in his chest. "Why not?"

"I'm marrying Euron Greyjoy."

His mouth fell open. He flung the chair across the room with a punch of his golden hand. "Fuck you, Cersei!"


	16. Chapter 16

Dany was standing near the southern end of the Painted Table, brushing her fingers over the dot indicating King's Landing, when the door opened. She walked back to her seat as her advisors filed in and took theirs. When they had all sat down, she turned to the Spider. "So, Lord Varys, you received a reply? The King in the North has accepted my marriage proposal?"

Varys parted his lips, leaving his mouth half-open as he he hesitated for a couple of moments. "He hasn't. Not yet, but he's sailing to Dragonstone as we speak."

Tyrion thumped his cup down on the table, peering at Dany. "Marriage proposal? I didn't know you had already started negotiating alliances? Shouldn't you consider more candidates before settling for one this quickly?"

Varys folded his hands into his sleeves. "I suppose we could consider other candidates, but it seems there's a shortage of high lords in Westeros. There aren't that many other options. There is Robert Arryn, a sickly boy, Edmure Tully, who's already married. Her Grace could consider marrying you, my lord, but as the Lannister army supports your sister, that would be a waste. Dorne and the Reach are already our allies and they can't offer any suitable candidates anyway. The Stormlands are in ruins, and as of yet, without an heir. The North is the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, it has always been the most difficult to control. So their King does appear to be the best candidate."

Dany nodded, pleased with the Spider's assessment. "It was actually one of the King's advisors who suggested the match. Lord Baelish, I believe. He sent us a raven, welcoming me back to the Seven Kingdoms, expressing his hope that I would succeed in taking back the Iron Throne."

"What? Varys, you knew about this? Why would you agree to anything Littlefinger suggested? You know the man better than any of us!"

The Spider shrugged. "Oh, of course I know Baelish is playing his own game. We'll deal with him when the time is right. For now, we can both benefit from this alliance."

Tyrion didn't seem entirely satisfied, but nodded. "So, the King in the North? I thought all the Starks were dead."

"Technically he's not a Stark. I believe you've met him, Jon Snow?"

"Jon Snow? I thought he was a brother of the Night's Watch."

"He was, their Lord Commander even-

This conversation wasn't going anywhere. "Lord Hand, Lord Varys mentioned you met this Jon Snow? Tell me, what kind of man is he?"

Tyrion frowned. "He was still a boy when I met him, moody, a bit prickly even. Determined to dedicate his life to the defence of the realm, proud of his Stark blood... But very sensitive about his bastard status. I liked him though. He was a good lad. I couldn't tell you what kind of man he has become, but having been chosen Lord Commander and now King in the North at his age, especially after what happened to the last Northern King... Very admirable indeed... But how did he come to abandon the Night's Watch? He never seemed like one to foresake his vows..."

Missandei glanced at her, Dany nodded, she'd heard the tale before, but she wanted to see how Tyrion would react to it. "We heard the Lord Commander was betrayed by his own men, they murdered him, but a red priestess from Asshai brought him back to life with fire and blood magic. His death released him from his oath, so he was free to leave the Wall."

 _What would have happened if Drogo'd had a red priestess instead of Mirri Maz Duur?_ Tyrion snorted. "Brought back to life? And you believe this nonsense?"

Missandei's brow furrowed. "I know the tale sounds incredible, but how can we dismiss anything that seems unlikely, when we are in the presence of the Mother of Dragons?"

Tyrion slumped back in his seat. "And where did you hear this incredible tale?"

Grey Worm inclined his head. "Me and Missandei question red priestess ourself. She speak highly about the King. She say Ionos Sonaro kivio darilaros issa."

 _He is the Prince that was Promised, and his is the song of ice and fire._ Dany knew her lips had stretched into a smile. Tyrion scraped his throat. "That's all very nice, but how did he become King in the North?"

Varys continued the tale. "He took back Winterfell from the Boltons with an army of Wildlings and the support of the Knights of the Vale, courtesy of Lord Baelish."

The Hand of the Queen shook his head, scrunching up his nose. "Wildlings? Why would Wildlings follow a former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch into battle?"

Varys held up his palms. "The Free Folk are different. They don't care about blood or titles. They follow the man, they follow strength."

 _Like the Dothraki._ Grey Worm nodded. "Many men die for him, because they believe in him."

Tyrion took a long gulp of his wine. "He sounds too good to be real."

 _He sounds like my brother Rhaegar._ "And why did he decide to do this now? Robb Stark has been dead for years."

Dany thought she saw pity in Varys' eyes when he answered. "Baelish arranged a marriage between Sansa Stark and Ramsay Bolton. They say the bastard raped and tortured her every night."

Tyrion's mouth fell open, his face twisted in pain. Missandei added: "But she escaped and ran to her brother. Theon Greyjoy told us this."

Tyrion whispered: "So, Jon Snow killed him?"

Dany covered his hand with hers and looked at Missandei. "No, the red priestess told us he almost beat Ramsay to death with his bare hands. But he let the girl decide his fate. She fed him to his own dogs."

"That's not the Sansa Stark I knew. And why would they still be working with Baelish if he arranged the match?"

Dany sighed. "I don't know Sansa Stark and I can't answer your question about Lord Baelish, but I do know this.  _My_ brother would have let thousands of men rape me to get back home and win his crown. Jon Snow raised an army to avenge the rape of his sister and win her back her home. And he was rewarded with a crown. From all we've heard, he must be a great leader. He rules the North. We need the North. I don't think I'll be able to find a better husband."

The Spider leaned forward. "There's one more thing, Your Grace. Have you ever heard what happened to Lyanna Stark?"

She frowned. "The girl Rhaegar fell in love with? She died, didn't she?"

"Lord Tyrion?"

"I heard Robert Baratheon say once that Ned Stark found his sister in a bed of blood and that she died in his arms."

"A woman in a bed of blood? You think she died in childbirth? What happened to the child then?"

Varys pursed his lips. "That's the thing, Your Grace, we don't know."

Tyrion sat up in his seat, his eyes focused on something far away. "So you're saying Lyanna Stark had just had a child when her brother found her? And... It was only a few months later when Ned Stark returned to Winterfell with a baby, wasn't it?"

Dany looked from her Lord Hand to the Spider and back. "I don't understand. Who was this baby?"

Varys tilted his chin, a smug little smile on his face. "Jon Snow."


	17. Chapter 17

Sansa leaned back on her weirwood throne to cross her legs, bringing her cup of Arbor Gold to her lips. She looked down at Alys Karstark, who was sobbing on her knees, holding her ripped dress to her with her arms. Brienne stood next to her, leaning on her sword. Sansa smiled. "Did you really think you could hide this from me? You're a stupid little girl, Alys. You should be happy about this. It means you're ready to bear children now. You  _will_ marry my son Ramsay and you will hate every minute of it. But at least you'll love your children."

Alys bowed her head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Sansa took a sip from her wine. "Take her away, Brienne."

Alys and Brienne disappeared and Jon entered the room. He grinned at her. Suddenly he was right in front of her, pushing the cup from her hands and grabbing her face. He forced his tongue into her mouth. Sansa responded eagerly, fisting her hands into his hair, pulling hard at his curls. Jon growled into her mouth: "I want you."

He released her face and pushed his hands into her bodice, ripping her dress open all the way down the front. "You ruined my dress."

"I'll make it up to you."

He grabbed her breasts roughly and licked a stripe up her sternum. He kneeled down to push her thighs apart and bury his face in her cunt. Sansa moaned and closed her eyes. She loved what he could do to her with his mouth. She could already feel her peak building. She opened her eyes. Something was off.  _My hair._ Instead of her red braid, she saw loose golden curls flowing down over her breasts. She gasped and grabbed Jon's head. When she pushed him back, she saw it was no longer him sitting between her legs, but Jaime Lannister, a haughty smirk on his face.

She woke up screaming, sweat dripping down her brow, her hair and nightrail plastered to her damp skin. Ghost licked her hand with a rough wet tongue. She sank back against the mattress and rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face into the pillow. She could still smell Jon on the sheets. It had been a while since she'd had a bad dream. Most nights she dreamed about Jon holding her in his arms. Her night terrors about Ramsay coming back to live had not disappeared completely, but they no longer held her in their grip as tightly as before.  _You can't kill me. I'm part of you now._ Could it be true? Had Ramsay ruined her? She wondered if that was what had happened to Cersei. Had she been damaged beyond repair as well? What had driven her to the point where the only man she could ever truly love was her brother?

_No._ This was different. She was nothing like Cersei. At least that's what she hoped. Would she become a madwoman who revelled in deceiving and hurting people? If only there was a way to know for certain. She didn't doubt that what she and Jon had was different from the relationship between Cersei and the Kingslayer. It wasn't just that Sansa knew that Jon was the only man who would never use her or betray her. He was good and kind. He was brave, gentle and strong. And he was gone, like every good thing in her life.

It shouldn't matter, Jon deserved better than a broken sister who warmed his bed at night. She knew she loved him and she knew he loved her, but he was better off without her. If she'd asked him to stay, he probably would have. That was exactly why she hadn't. They both had to do their duty. Perhaps Jon would even come to love the Dragon Queen. Sansa had heard she was beautiful. She was a fierce woman, who had freed the slaves of Slaver's Bay and inspired thousands of Dothraki screamers to cross the Narrow Sea for her. Daenerys Targaryen could give him trueborn sons. She would probably never flinch when they lay abed together.

Sansa forced the images out of her head before they could take solid form.  _And what about you?_ She couldn't imagine ever loving someone else. Jon had given her her body back, but she still couldn't bear the idea of another man touching her. She had made up her mind when they had left Castle Black all those months ago. She'd never marry again.  _If I could, I would have married Jon._ She curled up on her side, letting her hand caress her belly. She wished as she did every morning and every night, that Jon's seed had taken root inside her. If he had given her a son, she wouldn't need to marry to produce an heir, she would always have a part of him with her. But it was too early to tell. She could only hope she wouldn't be devastated when her moon blood came.


	18. Chapter 18

"So, are you going to tell him?"

Daenerys was holding her cup with two hands, staring off into the distance. She was wearing a deep purple gown that made her skin glow. "Tell him what?"

Tyrion clenched his fist. "You know damn well what!"

She turned to face him and raised her eyebrows. He inclined his head and added: "Your Grace."

She smirked. "You think I should tell Jon Snow that we made some wild conjectures? That he might not be who he's always thought he was? Ignorance is bliss, Lord Tyrion."

He sighed and pressed his lips together. "I know he didn't feel that way about not knowing who his mother was."

Daenerys nostrils flared. "So I should tell him that the man he thought to be his father was actually his uncle? That would only confuse him. I have no use for an ally who is going through some identity crisis while I conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes it's better to know nothing..."

_Perhaps you wish_ you _didn't know, is that it?_  "Tell me... What are you afraid of?"

She huffed. "I'm not afraid."

Tyrion took a step forward and offered her a smile. "As I've told you before, there's no shame in fear. Fear can be wise."

She put down the cup and folded her hands. "Alright, perhaps I am afraid. Now that I am so close... I don't know. It's as if part of me is expecting everything to go horribly wrong."

Tyrion put a hand over her arm. "Good. It means you realize how enormous this all is. Do you believe things will go horribly wrong if you tell him? You really want this marriage, don't you?"

Daenerys nodded. "I do. Do you think he'd agree to marry me if he knew I was his aunt?"

He rubbed his knees. "Perhaps he would, perhaps not... I don't think it would change much though. You are strangers to one another... But I'd advise you not to get ahead of things. You haven't even met the man."

She laughed. "No, but I feel like I already know him. If it's true, he's my family. I thought all my relatives were dead. Once, the only family I had was my brother Viserys and he... Well, the world is better off without him, I realize that. But this Jon Snow... He sounds wonderful, doesn't he?"

_It's dangerous to fall in love with an idea, my Queen, I hope you realize_ that _._ "I suppose he does. So you want to wait until we know beyond any doubt?"

Daenerys parted her lips. "Yes. I won't overwhelm him with such a revelation before we are certain."

_But is that your decision to make?_ "Are we any closer to finding the truth?"

She pursed her lips. "No, the only thing Varys has discovered is that my brother married the Stark girl on the Isle of Faces."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes. If there had been a wedding, even with the Crown Prince already married to Elia Martell... To some it wouldn't matter, as polygamy was usually frowned upon. But still... People might choose Rhaegar's sister over his bastard, but not over his trueborn son. "So if Jon Snow agrees to the marriage, that would only solidify your claim. But if he doesn't..."

She nodded. "I know."

 


	19. Chapter 19

Dany was looking down at the carefully arranged scene in the throne room. Two dozen Unsullied, fully armoured and carrying their spears and shields lined the long walls. Her best bloodriders were positioned around the dais. Tyrion had his own seat to the left of the throne. Grey Worm and Varys were standing to the right. Missandei straightened her back down at the bottom of the stairs. Dany glanced down at her dress. She'd decided to don a simply cut samite gown in the colours of her house that clung to her body, emphasizing her curves. She'd added a heavy golden necklace with rubies and matching bracelets on her bare arms. She was wearing her crown on top of her intricately braided hair, gold wrought in the shape of three dragons coiling around her head with rubies for eyes. A smile spread across her face. _He won't be able to keep his eyes off me._ She blinked to assume a neutral expression and gave the guards at the door a curt nod, indicating them to open it.

Three people entered the throne room, approaching the throne until they came to a stop three feet from the dais. The one on the left was an old man with a beard and a kind face. His clothes were a dark murky green and looked a little shabby. The one on the right was the tallest and brawniest woman Dany had ever seen. She had a plain face and short pale-blonde hair. She was wearing heavy armour and her hand was resting on the pommel of a sword.  _Interesting companions._

The King surprised her. He wasn't as tall or burly as she'd envisioned him. Instead he was lean and lithe, wearing simple green wool and brown leathers, and light armour. A sword with a white wolf's head-pommel was strapped to his waist. His face wasn't as she'd expected it either. For the last few weeks she'd imagined him to look like Viserys, but with dark hair and kind eyes. His hair was indeed long and dark and tied back under a bronze crown adorned with a jade wolf's head and nine black iron swords. His face was solemn and bearded, but somehow soft as well. His lips were full and a little pouty and his eyes looked dark and sad.

Missandei announced: "All hail Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, First of her Name, Queen of the First Men, the Andals and the Rhoynar, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen and the Bay of Dragons, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons."

Jon Snow raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and inclined his head. His companions bowed. The old man folded his hands behind his back and took a step forward. "Your Grace, I have the honour to present to you Jon Snow of House Stark, King in the North and King of Winter, Lord of Winterfell and former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, also known as the White Wolf."

Dany tilted her chin down and smiled. Tyrion took his cue, rising to walk up to the King: "Welcome! It seems you've done well for yourself, bastard!"

The husky woman clenched her jaw and the grizzled man frowned, but Jon Snow only stared at the Hand of the Queen for a long moment before extending his hand and replying with a stony face: "Thank you! So have you, dwarf."

Tyrion shook his hand and laughed. The King smirked and his eyes crinkled up at the corners.  _He is certainly handsome._

"I'd ask you to introduce your companions, but I think I already know them."

He looked at the old man, pointing at his right hand. "Ser Davos Seaworth, I suppose, former Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon. And you," he said, turning to the big woman, "you're Brienne of Tarth, the one who brought my brother Jaime back to King's Landing. And before that you were in Renly's Rainbow Guard."

He turned back to Jon Snow. "How did you manage to win these two over? And are you sure you can trust them?"

The King answered: "I would trust them with my life. But as to your other question, you'd have to ask them, I wouldn't presume to answer in their stead."

"Very well then, I will. Ser Davos?"

Davos Seaworth smiled and declared: "It's true, I was loyal to Stannis before, but Stannis is dead. I follow Jon Snow now, because he was the only man I could turn to, the only one who was prepared to do what was right, even at the cost of his own life. King Stannis told me once that, if he'd had a son, he would have wanted him to be like Jon Snow."

The King had been following the conversation attentively. His lips parted in apparent surprise. Dany was growing impatient.  _He has hardly looked at me since he came in._ Tyrion barked out a laugh. "That's great praise coming from Stannis, I never knew him to like anyone!"

He turned to Brienne of Tarth. "I've been called a traitor, a turncloak and a kingslayer before, Lord Tyrion, but none of those accusations are true. I was loyal to King Renly and after that to Lady Stark. I serve Queen Sansa now and it is on her orders that I am here to guard her brother King Jon. But it is a great honour to do so."

 _Queen Sansa?_ Dany rose to her feet and descended the steps, calling out: "Welcome, King Jon!"

When she was standing right in front of him, he finally looked at her and smiled a tigh-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you, Queen Daenerys. Your invitation was most kind."

She offered him her brightest smile. "We have much to discuss."

His body tensed. "We do, but there is something I would like to show you first."

 _Has he brought me a present?_ "While the South has been playing its game of thrones, Winter has arrived in the North and we have seen the terror that comes with it. Ser Davos, will you ask the men to bring in the casket?"

Dany frowned as she watched Davos Seaworth leave the room and re-enter with six men carrying in a large wooden chest. Jon Snow and Brienne of Tarth moved aside so they could put it down in front of Dany. Then the both of them drew their swords. The Unsullied lunged forward, pointing their spears. Dany held up a hand. Jon Snow gripped his sword with both hands and looked her in the eye. "I'd advise you to step back, Your Grace."

She did, noticing that Grey Worm, Missandei and Varys were standing right behind her, Tyrion stepped back to join them. Four of Snow's soldiers drew their swords as well, while the other two pried open the casket. Dany gasped as Missandei and Tyrion gripped her hands. Varys clasped a hand over his mouth and the Dothraki cried out. Even the Unsullied stirred uncomfortably.

From the chest rolled a corpse, bound in ropes from shoulders to ankles, greenish rotting flesh hanging from grey bones. Its eyes were bright blue and it screeched, writhing as it struggled against its bonds.

It was Tyrion who managed to speak first. "What the fuck is that?"

Jon Snow squared his shoulders. "The Long Night is coming. And the dead come with it."

 


	20. Chapter 20

After his men had forced the wight back into the casket and had nailed it shut, Jon had explained the threat of the White Walkers to the Dragon Queen and her advisors. He'd given Edd Tollett's report on the Fist of the First Men to Tyrion, who'd read it with horror growing on his face and passed it on to Daenerys' scribe and herald Missandei. She'd recited it in a quavering voice. Jon had told them what he'd witnessed at Hardhome. Queen Daenerys didn't speak a word until he had finished.  _"How do you kill something that is already dead?"_

Jon had answered:  _"Aye, it's difficult, but from what I've seen fire is the most effective. Good thing you have three dragons, I suppose. The wights are not the real threat though, that's the White Walkers. They are even harder to kill. Only dragonglass or Valyrian steel will do it."_

Tyrion had commented that there were loads of dragonglass on Dragonstone. Jon had nodded, hopeful that they would actually have a fighting chance.  _"Good. Your Grace, I'm not asking for your help. I'm not offering anything in return. I'm only imploring you to do your duty as Protector of the Realm. If you refuse, the North will fall and we will all die. But if we do, you're all lost. If you'd still like to have any Kingdoms to rule over when this is all done, I'd advise you to send your armies to the Wall."_

Daenerys had nodded weakly. "W _e'll discuss this later. You must be tired. I'll send someone to escort you to your rooms."_

The room they had given him was grand but gloomy. Everything from the walls to the sidetables to the bedposts was embellished with dragons. A large stone specimen loomed over the airy balcony from which Jon was watching the sea. He saw one of the real monsters floating over the water off in the distance. He thought he heard a screech.  _If only there was a way to control them. Then even if she refuses to help..._ He snorted. Sansa had begged him not to do anything rash. Trying to steal a dragon would probably qualify as rash. He'd probably end up in the beast's belly, roasted and torn to pieces. He thought he'd done well with the Dragon Queen though, holding back and observing as much as possible. He'd managed to discuss the most important issue first. He'd conferred on the journey with Davos and before with Sansa. He smiled at the memory of her trying to cram as much advice into their last hour as possible.

_"Now, Jon, treat her with the respect she deserves, but don't act too submissive."_

_"I won't."_

She'd fussed over a loose thread on his tunic.  _"Your modesty is charming, Jon, but you need to show her that you're her equal and that she can't order you around."_

Jon had gripped her hand to kiss her palm and press his cheek into it.  _"Sansa, I do know some things."_

She'd smiled and tucked her face into the crook of his neck whispering:  _"I'm sorry, it's just..."_

He'd stroked her hair.  _"I know."_

He pulled out Sansa's locket from under his tunic. He rubbed his thumb over the sapphires on the petals, tempted to open it. He was afraid if he did it too often, the smell of her hair would fade too quickly though. So instead he put it back in its place right over his heart and covered it with his palm. He should probably try to sleep for a few hours. He returned inside to strip down to his tunic and smallclothes and crawled into the bed. The mattress was too soft and the sheets were too silky, but he was so exhausted that after half an hour he drifted off anyway. 

He dreamed about Sansa. Most of it was just images and impressions. He saw her fiery hair flowing down her back, her blue eyes filled with tears, the sway of her hips as she walked the halls of Winterfell, her cheeks flushing amidst the falling snow in the Godswood and then again in his bed when she peaked while riding him. He felt the warmth of her body pressed against his, gooseflesh rising on her smooth skin under the touch of his hand. He felt her lips pressed to his mouth and skin, whispering his name into his ear. He could even smell her and taste her, lemons, lavender, honey.

He was aroused by a knock on the door, followed by a boy's voice asking: "Your Grace, you are expected at the welcoming feast in an hour. Would you like us to provide water for a bath and some fresh clothing?"

Jon sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to clear his throat. He called out: "Aye, please, I would."

Half an hour later, he hung the drying cloth over the edge of the bath and picked up the tunic the servants had brought him. He stared at it in horror. It was too large and it was made of red silk. He tossed it aside to inspect the next item. The doublet was black velvet, but it was trimmed with frilly golden patterns along the seams and edges. He dropped it as well. The breeches were fine, simple and black, though a bit loose and too long. He scanned the room for the trunk with his own clothing. He selected a dove grey tunic and a green velvet doublet Sansa had made specifically for this visit. He almost forgot his crown.

On his way out he crashed into a man about his age. Jon apologized. The other man was dressed in clothes as ridiculous as the ones Jon had received, but his were black and cloth of gold. There was something familiar about his face, though Jon was sure he'd never seen him before. The young man kept staring at him, his mouth hanging open. "You're Jon Snow."

Jon frowned. "I am."

"You're her brother."

"What?"

"Arya's brother."

Jon grabbed him by the arms. "You've seen Arya? Where? When?"

The other man pushed out his elbows, forcing himself out of Jon's grasp. He apologized again. "Don't worry about it. It was years ago, in the Riverlands. We were with the Brotherhood without Banners, but then the Red Woman took me and I haven't seen her since."

Jon's heart sank. That must have been before Brienne had seen her with Clegane. "The Red Woman? Melisandre?"

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

He shrugged. "Gendry, just Gendry, or at least I was. Now I'm Gendry Baratheon. I'm old King Robert's bastard. But I'm not supposed to call him king anymore. All very confusing, kings and bastards and titles."

Jon laughed. "Aye, tell me about it."


	21. Chapter 21

Jon stared at the note in his hand. It was an invitation to a private dinner with the Queen, and it smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. He didn't have much experience with women, but he was certain they didn't dab perfume on their letters when they wanted to discuss official business. It couldn't possibly be a sign of genuine interest though, she had only met him two days ago. Perhaps she thought it would please him. But it didn't, it only annoyed and confused him. He'd hoped their negotiations for a possible alliance could be plain and honest, but Daenerys was making it clear that, as with most political matters, it was just another game.  _I should have sent someone else... Or perhaps I should have asked her to come to me, to Winterfell._ It was too late for that now.

He decided to get dressed and go for a walk to improve his mood. He tucked Sansa's locket into his tunic as he left his room.  _I never should have left Winterfell._ He'd told her so at Castle Black and now he'd done it again.  _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ If they managed to come to an agreement soon, Daenerys might want to focus on King's Landing and the Iron Islands first. Perhaps he might be able to return home for a while. But what would he do there? If everything went according to plan, he wouldn't be King any longer and he'd have no place there anymore. He knew Sansa would welcome him into her home, into her heart and into her arms. And then he'd have to break both of their hearts again. It was better if he stayed, so at least Sansa could move on.

Jon closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the wind, the rush of the waves, the taste of the salty air on his tongue, but he couldn't shake off the guilt. _Gods_ , _what have I done to her?_ He'd promised to protect her and instead he'd-  _Say it, Snow._ He'd fucked his own sister. She was his family and he loved her. She was the one who'd truly brought him back to life. The Red Woman had only revived his body, but he would still be dead inside if not for Sansa. He remembered that moment during the battle at Winterfell, when he was being trampled by soldiers and buried under bodies, Bolton's and his own. He'd almost given up, accepting his fate. But then he'd closed his eyes and seen Sansa's face and he'd decided to live. 

He'd realized he was in love with her the day the lords had declared him King in the North. She'd come to him on the battlements and apologized for not telling him about the Knights of the Vale, but all he could feel was gratitude that they were still alive and home again. She was home and she'd done it herself, just like she'd told him. He'd been so proud of her his heart had almost burst out of his chest. At least that's what he'd thought until he'd started to lean in to kiss her.

He saw the dragon soaring over the waves again. It was close enough now for him to see that it was the green one. It landed on the beach below him, tilting its head up as if to look at him. He raised his hand, before balling it into a fist to withdraw it. He shook his head. What was he doing, waving his hand at dragons? He turned around. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ He knew he was in love with Sansa and he knew she was everything he could ever want, beautiful, brave, strong, intelligent. But it was more than that. Despite everything she'd been through, there was still so much tenderness in her heart. She took care of him, protected him and she allowed him to do the same for her. It was a poor excuse for what he'd done, but it was the truth. He knew he never could have had that with a woman like Ygritte. He wondered whether he might ever be able to have something like that with a woman like Daenerys. 

_It doesn't matter._ He'd been prepared to make this sacrifice for Sansa. They had both known it was the only way. He only had himself to blame for the fact that knowing what it felt like to be hers had made it so much more difficult. There was no reason to back down now, just because it would make him miserable, only because he couldn't get what he wanted. It had never been possible anyway, it had been a dream, nothing more. _Kill the boy and let the man be born._ This was not a boy's love though. It didn't matter. It was time to do his duty.


	22. Chapter 22

"I saw you speaking to Lord Baratheon at the feast? Have you met before?"

Jon Snow looked up from his plate. "What? Excuse me, Your Grace?"

"Call me Dany. You and Lord Baratheon talked all night. Have you met before?"

He blinked. "Gendry? No, but he knew my sister."

"Sansa?"

His eyes were filled with sadness again, as he sipped his wine. "No, Arya, my youngest sister."

"Is she... ?"

He clanked the cup down on the table. "No! She's out there... Somewhere..."

Dany slowly chewed her duck before answering: "I'm sure she is... What did you and Gendry talk about?"

He shrugged. "Oh well, mostly about Arya. And about you making him a Lord. It's been quite overwhelming for him."

She narrowed her eyes at his clenched jaw. "You don't approve?"

He took a bite of the beets. "I- Don't you think it might have been... imprudent to make a nameless bastard without any formal education Lord Paramount of the Stormlands?"

"Well, I must say I expected you of all people to appreciate it."

He put his fork down. "Aye, I guess in a way I do. But since all the Baratheons are dead, the other lords must have thought they'd have a chance to become the new Lord of Storm's End... And you took that away from them."

She gripped her cup and drank deeply before replying: "Gendry has the right blood. And I have given him the right name. I could have fed him to my dragons, if I wanted to, instead I offered him mercy, a name, a title, a home."

The corner of his mouth tugged up and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Highborns will always resent being passed over for a bastard. You should remain cautious. Perhaps you should find him a wife with an old name and a sharp mind."

She bit her lip, that hadn't occurred to her yet. He was right, it was actually a good idea. But this conversation wasn't helping her plans along.  "So, do you like it here on Dragonstone?"

Dany leaned over him to reach the bread basket, offering him a view of her cleavage and softly brushing her breast over his shoulder as she sat down again. Jon went rigid and shifted uncomfortably. "It's, uhm, different. I'd never been South before. I like the beach. I saw one of your dragons there today, the green one."

She tilted her head and parted her lips. "Rhaegal? She was on the beach with you?"

He tore off a piece of bread. "Well, I was up on the cliffs, she was down by the shoreline."

"That's odd, normally she doesn't come that close to people,' she said, putting her hand on his forearm, "she must like you."

When she trailed her fingers down to his hand to brush her thumb over the soft flesh between his thumb and finger, he pulled his hand back to pick up his cup."I don't know. Perhaps she didn't see me."

She withdrew her hand as well and pretended to focus on her food. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, studying his grey doublet and green tunic. "You're not wearing the clothes I sent you."

He seemed startled for a moment. "Oh, that was very kind of you, but I'm afraid they don't fit."

She smiled and let her eyes skim down his chest. "I'll send someone to take your measurements and order new ones."

He held up a hand. "Thank you, but there's no need. Sansa made me all these new tunics and doublets. I have enough clothes."

"You love your sister very much."

He blushed. Men were always so ridiculous about giving away they were capable of tenderness. "I do."

Dany reached for his hand again. "I heard what happened to her. I'm sorry. But you avenged her. I wish my brother had been like you."

Jon squeezed her hand and put it back on the table so his was free to rub his temple. "I can't take credit for that, I didn't do much. She did most of it herself."

She shuffled closer. "And you don't mind?"

He turned to frown at her, flinching when he found her face so close to his. "Why would I mind that she took back her home and punished the man who hurt her?"

She held his gaze and parted her lips in surprise. _I've seen so much of the world, but I've never come across a man like you._ "You must have done something, though. The Lords chose you as their King."

He turned away and shook his head. "It should have been her."

 _It's so adorable, the way he cares so much about his sister._ She whispered: "But it's you, here, with me. I'd like to talk about that, Jon."

He swallowed. "Aye, our... alliance. We need each other. Would you like to discuss terms?"

She shook her head and laughed. "There's no need to be so cold. This is our marriage we're talking about."

Jon clenched his fist. "Does it have to be? I mean, we wouldn't be considering marriage if you were a man."

Dany laughed again. "I guess not, but I'm afraid I don't understand what you're trying to say."

He pressed his lips into a thin line as his brow furrowed. She wanted to reach out to smooth the lines from his forehead. "Well... Dany, you're a Queen in your own right, basically a female King. You don't really need to marry anyone. Isn't it a risk for you, taking a husband? We could just be allies, friends?"

She blinked and squared her shoulders. "Friends? Of course I'd like us to be  _friends._ But this is how it works, alliances are sealed with marriages. And I appreciate your concern. You're right, I would require you to sign an official announcement that you acknowledge me as Queen Regnant and that you swear never to usurp my throne. You would be King in name too, but I would be your equal. Would you agree?"

He held out his palm. "Of course, I have no claim to the Iron Throne, it's yours..."

She pursed her lips. "Good."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "So, you think this is the only way? There is nothing I could say to change your mind?"

She narrowed her eyes and gripped the arm-rests of her chair. _No man has ever refused me._ "Are you saying you don't want to marry me? I guess the choice is yours. But if you refuse me and I find you standing in my way, I will not hesitate to take what is mine with fire and blood."

He met her gaze with an icy glare. "Fine. I accept your proposal, but I have one condition."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something to comfort you. This song is perfect for Jon in this fic.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6c64kUiqknY


	23. Chapter 23

Sansa dismounted, helped by her new handmaiden Lana. Alys Karstark swung down from her horse without assistance. The guards guided the horses towards the Wintertown stables. People were already lining up for the food distribution. As they waited for the wagon to arrive, Sansa knelt down to stroke the dark curls of one of the children who were staring at her in awe.  _It must be the crown._ She'd had it fashioned to look exactly like Jon's. Manderly and Littlefinger had suggested she choose a more feminine design with gold and gems, but she had insisted:  _"I am the Queen in the North, not a pampered Southron Princess."_

If she wanted her bannermen's full support, she needed to prove to them she was as capable and strong as any man. It was a frustrating and exhausting burden on top of all the new tasks she had adopted after Jon had left, but one she knew was inevitable.  _I should have begged him to stay with me._ If she had, she would have been his Queen in everything but name, but she hadn't, so she had to deal with reality as it was. One of her first decisions had been to appoint Wyman Manderly as Hand of the Queen. She knew she needed assistance and Lord Manderly was the wealthiest and one of the most powerful High Lords in the North.

She'd ordered Lord Glover to assemble a party to root out the last Bolton loyalists on the lands surrounding the Dreadfort. If he was successful, she intended to legitimize his ward Larence Snow and make him Lord of the Hornwood. She knew the Tallharts were hoping to acquire the lordship and the castle themselves, so she'd have to find a way to appease them as well. She remembered she still had to appoint a trustworthy regent for Harmond Umber. She'd ask Lyanna Mormont to suggest a suitable candidate. 

As she started handing out apples, carrots and flour, she turned to Alys, who was smiling brightly at the children. "Are you enjoying married life, Lady Alys?"

She nodded. "I am, Your Grace. It's nice, knowing you don't have to face this world alone. And under all the furs and the beard and the bawdy jokes, Tormund has a really soft heart."

Sansa smiled sadly. "Do you love him?"

Alys chuckled. "No, not yet. But I think I will."

She hesitated for a moment. "I know it's Winter, and it's probably not that smart, but I hope to be with child soon."

Sansa looked up. "Really? I didn't expect you to be the maternal type..."

Alys shrugged. "I didn't expect it either, but I don't have any family left. My brother might still be alive, if the Freys haven't murdered him... It's my duty to House Karstark and it's one I'd be happy to fulfill. I want a new family. I know I'll never be able to replace them, but still..."

Sansa nodded. "What about you, Your Grace? Don't you want a family of your own?"

"I do, but only with the right man."

Alys laughed. "How would you be able to tell if he was the right man?"

 _Because I've already met him._ "I would know."

"I hope you won't have to wait too long."

A wailing woman with a child on her breast stumbled up to them. Lana grabbed her by the shoulder and glanced back at Sansa. She nodded. "Please, come forward. Don't be afraid."

The woman fell to her knees, clutching the hem of Sansa's dress. One of the guards reached out, but Sansa held up her hand. "Yer Grace, please. My 'usband fought fer you against the Boltons. 'E gave 'is life fer House Stark and now I got nothin'. We left our home to come 'ere. I'm beggin' you."

Sansa reached out to pat the woman's arm. "We can always use women in the kitchens at Winterfell. You'll have a roof over your head and hot meals twice a day, but you'll have to work. Can you do that?"

The woman sobbed. "Aye, Yer Grace, I can."

"Lana, bring this woman back to the castle. Give her a meal and a bed. She can start work tomorrow."

Sansa looked back. They'd emptied the wagon and there were still people waiting for food.  _And Winter has only begun._


	24. Chapter 24

Sansa glared at the ledger on her desk. She couldn't make sense of the numbers. Maths had never been her strong suit.  _I know they made a mistake somewhere, but I can't find it._ She'd spent the last days overseeing the inventory and inspecting the household accounts to find a way to save money to buy more food for the smallfolk. The numbers simply didn't add up. She knew Ramsay had left practically everything in ruins, but she hadn't realized the extent of the disaster. Jon had been trying to rectify the mess, but now it had become another weight on Sansa's shoulders. She knew Littlefinger would be able to help her. As former Master of Coin, he knew everything there was to know about finances.  _But I refuse to ask him for help._ Sansa couldn't trust him with the household accounts. She already spent enough hours trying to keep him at arm's length without insulting him. She couldn't grant him more power than he already had. 

As if she had summoned him with her thoughts, Lana came in to announce that Lord Baelish wished to speak to her. Sansa told the girl to let him in and bring them some wine. She took a few minutes to go over the columns of numbers one more time, making some notes, while she motioned for Littlefinger to sit down. She closed the ledger and put it in her desk drawer with her notes. She looked at him. "Lord Baelish, forgive me. I was just finishing up."

"Do you have any idea what time it is, Your Grace? You should try to get more sleep."

She waved off his comment.  _I'd get more sleep if I didn't have to deal with you every day._ "Your brother has left you to deal with all of this alone. Didn't he promise to stand by your side?"

Sansa looked at him with a blank look on her face, fuming internally at his audacity. She knew for a fact he was extremely pleased to be rid of Jon. "My brother made me Queen. I understand power comes with responsibility. And it wasn't his choice to leave Winterfell."

She'd almost said "me", but caught herself at the last moment. She knew Littlefinger wouldn't have missed the crack in her voice if she hadn't. Before he could answer, they were interrupted by Lana bringing in a flagon of wine and two cups. Littlefinger followed her movements as she put the items down on the table and poured wine into the cups. He kept his eyes on her back until she had left the room. When she'd closed the door, he turned back to Sansa. "New face?"

"Lana? No, she's been here for a while. She used to work in the kitchen, but I needed an extra pair of hands here. She's Maester Barth's sister, grew up just outside the Citadel."

Baelish lifted his cup and took a sip. "So, how did the Hornwood issue turn out? You decided to legitimize the Snow boy after all? Why him?"

Sansa sighed. "Larence convinced the Hornwood men to fight for us, although it was sworn to Ramsay. He was Lord Glover's ward. Glover did exactly as I asked him to do. It's only right to reward those who've served me well."

"I suppose. What about the Tallharts?"

"Eddara remains Lady Regnant of Torrhen's Square. The Dreadfort still needed a castellan, so I've granted that position to her Uncle Leobald."

Littlefinger raised his eyebrows. "He was hoping to become Lord of his own seat. You gave one of your castles to a bastard and made him a Lord. But you only make Tallhart castellan of the other?"

Sansa rubbed her temples. "It's more than he deserves. In fact, I've claimed some of the former Bolton lands for the Crown and for the Karstarks so Tormund has more space to settle the Free Folk. But I've told Lord Leobald I'll make him Lord of the Dreadfort when he's proven his worth. Under my rule, people will get what they've earned."

He smirked at her. She rose to her feet, he followed her. "As you've pointed out, Lord Baelish, it is very late."

He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. Sansa drifted off and waited for it to be over. "Do my kisses not please you anymore, Sansa?"

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and forced a smile. O _f course your kisses don't please me. I'm your Queen, you should treat me with more respect._ "Your presence here doesn't please my bannermen, Lord Baelish. They seem to think you're to blame for my reluctance to marry one of them or one of their sons."

He offered her another one of his sneering smiles. "Oh, and does that bother you?"

Sansa rolled her eyes at him. "Of course it bothers me. They think I intend to marry you."

"I'm hurt now, my Sansa, I thought that was exactly what you intended."

She tried to give him a sweet smile. _I'm not your Sansa._ "You know I can't do that. Some of these Lords' willingness to accept me as their Queen depends on the possibility of me choosing one of them as my husband. If I marry you, I lose their allegiance. I know you're a patient man, Lord Baelish. This is not the time. In fact, it would be better if you left Winterfell for a while, perhaps go back to the Eyrie to check up on Robert Arryn and inform him of events here. Make him feel important."

He considered her for a while, pursing his lips. "How many proposals have you had today?"

"Four."

"And how do you manage to keep refusing them?"

Sansa's lips curled into a true smile now. "I've told them I will only marry the man who can defeat my brother with a sword in single combat."

He laughed. "Still a romantic at heart, aren't you? But your  _brother_ isn't here."

"Exactly. And even if he was, none of them would be able to defeat him."  _You least of all._


	25. Chapter 25

"The King wishes to see you, My Lady."

Sansa glanced up from her needlework. "Thank you, Amma. You can let him in."

She bent down again to examine a flower she'd just finished, smiling to herself as she heard Jon's footsteps. A warm savoury smell had entered the room with him. She looked up to find him standing there with a serving tray in his hands. It contained a bowl of the venison stew that had been served for supper, a flagon of ale and two cups, and a plate of honeyed cakes. "I thought you might want some food."

She smiled at him, before refocusing on her work. "That's sweet, Jon, but I'm not hungry."

She could hear him sigh before putting down the tray and walking over to her. He kneeled in front of her, setting her embroidery aside to take her hands in his. "This is the third night in a row you haven't touched your plate."

Sansa brought his hand to her mouth to kiss his knuckles, avoiding his eyes. "I've got other things on my mind, Jon."

Jon grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at his stern face. "You need to eat, Sansa, you're getting too skinny."

She let her fingers caress his jaw, lightly scratching his beard, and shrugged "With everything we're handling right now, food really is the last thing on my mind. Sometimes I just forget to eat."

He smiled, rising to his feet and heading for the table. "Alright, then I promise to help you remember," he said, picking up one of the cakes, "I'm not leaving until I've seen you eat something."

She chuckled. "I'm not sure that's the right way to convince me."

Sansa blinked and snuggled deeper under the furs, trying to fall back asleep. She drifted between consciousness and a light slumber for a while until she realized she was hungry. That was probably why this particular memory had come to her in a dream. Jon was no longer there to remind her to eat, so she'd been neglecting to do so a little too often. She decided she could wait a few more hours and closed her eyes.  _I can't go sneaking into the kitchens in the middle of the night._ Slowly, she became aware of a more pressing need. Her bladder felt agonizingly full. She groaned. Normally she never had to make water during the night, for which she was grateful, as it was too cold to leave the safe warmth of the furs. She knew if she got out of the bed, she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.  _As if I could sleep with that painful bladder, I might as well get up and find something to eat._

A few hours later, Sansa left the Godswood, satisfied she'd been able to rise so early. She'd managed to get a lot of work done while the rest of the castle was still asleep. She'd also come up with a solution for the lack of food. She knew she'd be taking a risk, but she was out of options. She wasn't surprised when Littlefinger approached her in the glass gardens. "I want to rebuild them, perhaps expand them."

He let his eyes travel over the destruction. "Glass is expensive."

"I'd need to borrow the money."

He raised his eyebrows. "And who's going to lend it to you? Manderly? The other lords? The Eyrie?"

Sansa bit her lip. Manderly was rich, but not that rich. She was already demanding more from her bannermen than they were probably willing to give anyway. She didn't want to be indebted to Robert Arryn. "The Iron Bank."

"The Iron Bank has become quite reluctant to grant loans to Westerosi royalty."

"You still have contacts in Braavos, don't you? I don't care about the interest rate. I'll pay back whatever they want come Spring. My people need food right now."

Baelish took a step forward. "And how would you repay _me_ for my service?"

She met his gaze without blinking. "We'll see. You'll have to deliver first."

He started leaning in. Sansa's stomach contracted when she caught a whiff of his minty breath and the fragrant oils on his skin. She recoiled and Littlefinger narrowed his eyes at her. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm feeling a little dizzy. You were right, I should try to get more sleep."

He seemed to relax somewhat, but his answer was cut off by the arrival of the smith's youngest son. The boy remained silent for a few moments, clutching his knees to catch his breath. "What is it, Ralf?"

He straightened up. "Your Grace, you need to come immediately. There's someone at the gates!"


	26. Chapter 26

"Still as impatient as ever, aren't you, little wolf?"

Arya looked up to narrow her eyes at her travelling companion. "You should keep your mouth shut, dog. I haven't decided not to kill you yet."

She'd sent up a prayer to any god who might be listening when she'd found Sandor Clegane in the company of Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. She'd thought to herself: _three birds with one stone._ But then she'd overheard them talking about their plans to travel to Winterfell, to assist the King in the North in his fight against the White Walkers. She'd been confused at first, uncertain who they might be talking about, but then the Hound had spat out some of his ale.  _"King? Nasty little fucker if you ask me. Forced the little bird into marrying him so he could claim her crown. His own bloody sister, well, half-sister, but still."_

His comment had made even less sense to her, but it had allowed her to figure out who they were talking about.  _Jon's back in Winterfell? With Sansa?_ She'd decided then and there to abandon her list for a while and reveal herself. The Brotherhood had resumed their journey North the next day, pausing regularly to recruit more men for their cause. Eventually, Arya had become fed up with their slow pace and had left them behind, only to find the Hound following her. She'd ignored him for a while, allowing him to trail behind her without acknowledging his presence. But then they'd gotten lost in the Neck. The crannogmen had almost shot him down with their poisoned arrows, but Arya had called out to them, stating her identity.

They had been escorted to Greywater Watch so Howland Reed could confirm that she was who she claimed to be. When she'd entered the Hall, Lord Reed had gaped at her.  _"You look so much like her."_

Arya chewed the inside of her cheek.  _How long could it take to open these gates?_ She wanted to see Jon. She didn't quite know how she felt about seeing Sansa again. She wondered how angry her sister would be at her, if she'd even recognize her. Finally she heard shouts. "Open the gates!"

She squared her shoulders and walked in.  _I'm home, I'm finally home._ Sansa's red hair caught her eye immediately. There were other people in the courtyard whose faces were vaguely familiar. She recognized the man standing closest to her sister as Lord Baelish, the one they called Littlefinger.  _What is he doing here? And where is Jon?_ She looked at Sansa more closely now. She had become extremely beautiful and impossibly tall. Her hair was hanging over her shoulder in a simple braid and she was clad in a fur cloak that emphasized her regal posture. She was staring at the Hound. "Hello there, Little Bird."

She offered him a half-smile and turned her eyes to Arya. Her eyes grew incredibly large and her mouth fell open. She blinked furiously. Arya chuckled at the sight, which was so unlike the sister she'd known. She leapt forward, calling out Sansa's name. Some young ponce of a lord stepped forward and shouted. "Step back, wench, that's the Queen you're addressing!"

Sansa turned her head toward the man, seemingly reluctant to look away from Arya and exclaimed: "Oh, shut up, you idiot, that's my sister!"

Arya barked out a laugh at the man's baffled face and at hearing such words coming from Sansa's mouth. Her sister fell to her knees, stretching out her arms and Arya closed the distance between them to jump into her embrace. Sansa was crying and wheezed out: "I'm sorry, Arya, I'm so, so sorry!"

"Me too. Can you forgive me?"

Sansa pulled away to look at her with watery blue eyes, searching her face. "There's nothing to forgive."

Arya buried her face in the crook of Sansa's neck to hide her tears, breathing in the scent of her hair. It reminded her of Mother. She bit her lip to stop more tears from filling her eyes. She took a deep breath and withdrew to help her sister to her feet, joking: "Seven hells, Sansa, you're so dramatic, falling to your knees for me and all."

Sansa let out a peal of laughter, wiping her tears off her face with her gloves. "You're the one who came running to me like some wild little child!"

They laughed together. Arya swallowed the lump in her throat and asked: "Where's Jon?"

Sansa's face fell. Her lips started quivering and her hands came up to rub her own arms.  _No! No!_ But Sansa only said: "Jon's not here."

"When will he be back?"

"I don't know. We needed help. He's gone South to marry the Dragon Queen."

 _What?_ "But Sansa, he can't! The Dragon Queen's-

Sansa clasped an arm around her shoulders and started steering her away from the people who had gathered in the courtyard. "Give Clegane a room in the guest quarters and bring him something to eat, Amma."

She turned back to Arya: "Come, let's get you inside. You must be hungry."

Arya looked up at her and saw her mouthing "Not here."

She swallowed her objections. "Yes, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."


	27. Chapter 27

Sansa sat watching as Arya devoured the food set in front of her, a wide smile on her face. She was still feeling a bit queasy and light-headed, but she ignored it so she could keep staring at Arya's face. Her sister suddenly became aware of her gaze and stopped chewing. "I'm sorry, this is not very ladylike of me, is it?"

Sansa laughed. "I don't care, Arya. You don't have to be a lady. You're you and you're here. That's enough."

Arya offered her a wide grin. She put down her fork and asked: "Is it true? Did you kill Joffrey?"

Sansa's lips parted in surprise. "No... Sometimes I wish I had, but I'm not sure I could have done it. It was Lord Baelish. He helped me escape from King's Landing after the wedding."

Arya raised her eyebrows. "So that's why he's here?"

"No, not at all. He... He's not what he wanted me to believe he was," she sighed, "but when Jon and I decided to take back Winterfell from the Boltons... We simply didn't have enough men. Baelish had an army, we needed it, so..."

Arya narrowed her eyes, but then her face fell. "Bolton... I heard what happened, Sansa. I'm sorry."

"So am I. But I survived, and I did kill _him_."

"How?"

Sansa couldn't help the little smile that quirked up her lips. "Jon punched Ramsay raw and bloody, and then I fed him to his own hounds."

Her sister's mouth fell open in what Sansa thought must be awe. "I want to hear all about it, the battle, the Wildlings, how Jon became King," she breathed, then her nose scrunched up in disgust, "I've heard some gross stories about that, but I'm sure they can't be true."

Sansa frowned.  _Gross stories?_ "Well, I suppose war is always gross, but it's a long story... What happened to you, Arya? Have you been with the Hound for all these years? Brienne told me she saw you with him in the Vale. I was there as well at the time, in the Eyrie."

Arya's brow furrowed. "Brienne of Tarth? And you were there? The guards wouldn't allow us through. They told us Aunt Lysa had died."

Sansa nodded.  _So close, so close._ _I should have gone with Brienne then, perhaps we could have found Arya together._ On the other hand, what would have been the chance of her and Jon meeting again and becoming lovers in that case? She couldn't linger on what-ifs. Arya continued her story. "Brienne and the Hound fought. She won. I thought the Hound was going to die, so I left him. I wanted to go to the Wall, to Jon, but I couldn't get there. So I crossed the Narrow Sea to Braavos. I had a friend there..."

"Braavos? What did you do there?"

Arya hesitated. "I trained with an ancient order... I learned to- I learned all kinds of useful things."

Sansa pursed her lips at her sister's vagueness, but decided not to press the matter. "And then you came back."

Arya's answer came a heartbeat too late. "I did. I expected to be here sooner, but we got lost in the Neck. I met Howland Reed, Sansa. Do you remember him? He was Father's friend. He told me something- He promised to keep a secret for Father..."

"That's what you were trying to tell me, out in the courtyard? Howland Reed told you a secret about the Dragon Queen?"

Arya bit her lip. "Not exactly, it's actually a secret about Jon."

_About Jon?_ What could Howland Reed possibly know about Jon? Why would Father have told him of all people? She tried to remember what she knew about him, but found it difficult to focus. Her mind was whirling. She thought she'd heard Father say once the man had saved his life at some point. "Go on."

Arya pushed her left thumb over the nails of her other hand, chewing the inside of her cheek. Sansa almost sighed. Her sister's fidgeting used to drive her insane, but she tried to stay calm now. "I don't know where to start... Do- do you remember what happened to our Aunt Lyanna?"

Sansa nodded. "She was supposed to marry Robert Baratheon, but Prince Rhaegar kidnapped her and raped her. And then she died."

Arya parted her lips, pulling in a long breath. "That's what everyone thinks happened, but it didn't go quite like that. You met King Robert, would you want to marry him?"

Sansa chuckled and shook her head. "Well, neither did Lyanna, but Grandfather wouldn't listen to her, so she and Prince Rhaegar eloped."

She stared at Arya. "What? But the Prince was already married to Elia Martell, wasn't he?"

Arya shrugged. "I suppose, but it doesn't matter that much to Targaryens, Aegon the Conqueror had two wives as well. So, you know, the war came and Rhaegar died and Robert became King. But Lyanna was still in Dorne where the Prince had left her and... Sansa, she was expecting his child!"

Sansa's head was spinning by now and a strange tingling sensation was running through her limbs. "But Aunt Lyanna died. What happened to her baby?"

"You know Father found her before she died, right? He knew King Robert wouldn't allow her baby to live, so he brought him home and pretended he was his."

Sansa's heart was beating so furiously now that she felt as if her head was going to explode and her vision had become blurred with blobs of red. She managed to whisper: "Jon?"

Arya leapt to her feet, her voice rising in excitement. "Yes, Jon! That's why he can't marry the Dragon Queen, she's his Aunt, Sansa! And the Iron Throne isn't even hers, it's Jon's!"

She blinked. "So, Jon is not our brother?"

"Technically, he's our cousin, but that doesn't matter to me! Jon will always be my brother!"

Sansa didn't feel her knees hit the floor. The last thing she saw was Arya's shocked face before everything went black.


	28. Chapter 28

Sansa woke up in Jon's bed, startled by someone taking her hand. She opened her eyes and saw Father's face hovering over hers. He smiled sadly and said "Someone who's brave, gentle and strong. You've come a long way, haven't you?"

She released a sob and whispered: "I have, but I lost him, Father."

He shook his head, smiling more widely and smoothing her hair back from her face. "Perhaps not."

Before she could answer, she was drawn under by the blackness again. The next time she resurfaced, Bran was sitting by her bedside. Something was off about him, he looked much older than she remembered and his hair was shorter. He didn't say anything. He just smiled and nodded. Sansa forced her mouth open, but couldn't find her voice. Her eyes were too heavy. She drifted off again.

An odd sound filled Sansa's ears. She smelled woodsmoke and the stench of something burning. She blinked a couple of times until her eyes stayed open. The room was on fire. She tried to scream for help, but her voice was gone again. Jon entered the room, silver curls blown away from his face by the blazing fire, his eyes dark and intense. He walked straight through the flames to kneel beside her. He brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before rising again to lift her from the bed. "I've got you," he said. She lost consciousness again before he could carry her through the door.

Mother sat by the window, her hands busy with something Sansa couldn't see. Her blue eyes were cold and her lips were pressed into a thin line. She glared at Sansa. "How could you do this to me?"

Silent tears ran down Sansa's cheeks, freezing on her skin.  _He's not who you thought he was, Mother._ Lady Catelyn rose and smoothed out her skirts. "No? He used you and left you as soon as he got what he wanted from you. Now look at yourself."

_What? No! It wasn't like that._ Mother shrugged and walked out of the room. Sansa was slipping away again, spinning down and down and... There was only darkness and that feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could hear his voice. "I'm yours, I'll always be yours."

_But you're not here. I never should have let you go._ The tears kept flowing. Suddenly she was standing in the courtyard with Jeyne. Rickon grinned at her as he ran by, Arya and Robb were laughing at Theon's new clothes. She heard her sister's voice and forced her eyes open, letting her head fall to the left. It was the new face, the older Arya, no longer the little girl. "You're so pretty!"

Arya was sitting cross-legged on Jon's bed, looking down at her. "She's still delirious."

An unfamiliar, deeper voice answered: "No, I think she's finally waking up."

Sansa turned her head at the sound. It was Bran, the older Bran, strapped to a chair next to the bed. He smiled at her again. "Welcome back, Sansa!"

She opened her mouth and discovered her voice had returned. "Bran? Is that really you? You're not a dream?"

Something flashed in Bran's eyes before he offered her a smile and said: "No, I'm not a dream. I arrived the day after Arya's return."

Sansa blinked.  _The day after?_ "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Sansa," Arya whispered, "you weren't sleeping. You were..."

Sansa looked between her brother and sister, trying to decipher the looks on their faces. Finally, Bran cleared his throat. "Sansa, you were being poisoned."

Her head started spinning again and she waited for the darkness to take her. It didn't. "Poisoned? But why? Who..."

Arya shook her head. "We don't know yet. But I promise you, I will kill them."

She nodded weakly. Bran continued: "You were very lucky, Sansa. Whoever did this used a very sophisticated poison."

"Yes, it's called the Creeper," Arya added, "it works very slowly. Usually it's only discovered when it's too late."

Sansa frowned when her sister and brother shared a look again. She narrowed her eyes. "What? There's something you're not telling me."

Arya chewed her lip and sighed. "The only reason your body had such a sudden, violent reaction to it was because of the baby."

Sansa's mouth fell open as her hand covered her belly automatically. Tears started spilling from her eyes again.  _Perhaps the Gods do exist._ She was going to have Jon's baby. But suddenly her stomach flipped. _Please, no._ Her voice was barely audible. "Is- Did I- the poison..."

Bran smiled brightly as he took her hand. "Don't worry. Little Brandon is doing fine."

Relief flooded over her. She raised her eyebrows, Bran only shrugged. She twisted her body to see Arya clutching her other hand in both of hers. "Who did this to you? Say the name and I'll kill him too! Was it Littlefinger? He's been demanding to see you for days, but I wouldn't let him in."

Sansa beamed at her sister, squeezing her hand. She shook her head and swallowed the lump in her throat. "No... It wasn't like that... I wanted it too, very much."

Arya's brow furrowed. "So you have a lover?"

Sansa opened her mouth, unable to answer. Her brother released her hand. Her sister clasped the other more tightly. "I'm not judging you. It's not something I would have expected of you, but... Does he make you happy?"

_He did, still does, if only..._ She nodded. Arya chuckled. "I  _am_ curious though. Who is he?"

She pulled her hand away from Arya, folding her arms over her chest. "I can't tell you..."

Arya jumped from the bed. "Why not? You don't trust me?"

Sansa reached for her, crying: "No! That's not it!"

"Then what is it?" Arya demanded, crossing her arms as well. Sansa murmured: "I can't tell you... You'll hate me."

Her sister bit her lip and frowned. Sansa buried her face in her hands. Several moments passed in unsettling silence, until Bran released a long breath and revealed: "Jon is the father of Sansa's child."

Sansa dropped her hands, staring at Bran with her mouth hanging open. He only shrugged again. She started angling her body toward her sister, dreading the look on her face. Arya's expression quickly changed from complete shock to utter disgust. "Fuck, Sansa, how could you do that? Jon's our brother!"

Bran offered: "He's not."

" _She_ didn't know that!" Arya exclaimed.

"Neither did Jon."

Arya stood frozen next to the bed for a few moments, before shrieking: "Seven hells!" and bolting out of the room.

Sansa tried to sink away into the furs. Bran reached for her hand again. "Don't worry, she'll come around. It's a lot to take in."

She nodded. "I suppose... But it doesn't seem to bother you? And how did you know?"

Bran grinned at her. "It's... a little odd, I'll admit, but after all else I have seen... I can see things now, Sansa. Things from the past, things that are far away and sometimes... I've seen your future, yours and Jon's. Things that haven't happened yet are never definite, but I think the visions would have changed if it was lost."

She could only stare at him, absolutely bewildered. He chuckled. "That's a lot to take in as well, isn't it? Don't worry, Sansa, he  _will_ come back to you."

 


	29. Chapter 29

"Keep your shield up!"

Tyrion approached the scene with Missandei by his side. Jon Snow was teaching Gendry Baratheon how to use his sword. The lad had some experience, but he lacked the formal training those brought up in a castle had received. It had only been a few days, but the new Lord Baratheon was already more proficient. As usual, Brienne of Tarth was standing off to the side, a few feet away. Tyrion knew that when Jon had finished training Gendry, he'd have a sparring session with Brienne. They were well-matched. Lady Brienne had her strength and size, and she was surprisingly flexible for a woman that big. Jon Snow was quicker and more agile though and his  technique was better. They had both won some matches, others had been left undecided.

Every day a larger group of Dothraki gathered on the beach to watch the spectacle. Many had found themselves forced to cut off their braids after challenging the King and his Lady Guard. Tyrion watched them murmuring among each other. "What are they saying?"

Missandei looked down at him. "The usual, My Lord. They're eager for a chance to fight Khal Jon, but some of them think it's a bad idea. They've heard the stories about him refusing to stay in the Nightlands. They believe his skills must be unnatural. Tarro says he can kill a man with one look."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. The Dothraki certainly had their use, but they were incredibly superstitious. Five of them were eyeing Brienne, hissing among themselves. "And what about them?"

Missandei blinked a couple of times. "They... are wondering which parts the Khal's bloodrider has between her legs and whether he has... lain with her."

He doubted that was the word the men had used. He huffed. "She's not his bloodrider. And what's with them calling him Khal?"

The girl shrugged. "Khal means King. And people always try to make sense of the world from their own perspective."

It seemed the lesson had ended. Tyrion sighed. He was dreading this conversation, but he knew it had to be done. He'd told Daenerys Jon Snow would never consent to it, but he couldn't refuse her. He remembered her rage and disbelief.  _"He wants me to give half of my kingdom to his sister. As a wedding gift!"_

He'd been wondering what game Jon Snow was playing. He hadn't seemed one to play these games back when he'd first met him, but all of them had come a long way since then. Was he truly that devoted to his sister? He hadn't seen anything of the sort in any other man, except for-  _But that's different._ Or was he just reluctant to marry Daenerys, demanding impossible concessions from her, knowing she'd never agree to them? And why would he want to refuse her? She was offering him anything a man could possibly desire. Unless he preferred men. Tyrion knew there must be more to it. He was determined to find out what.  _Let's get this over with first._ He beckoned Missandei to follow him. "You're a good teacher, Jon Snow. Our new Lord Baratheon is improving."

Snow looked up, a half-smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. "He has a lot of potential."

Tyrion shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "So, we haven't been able to talk alone since you've arrived. I've heard a lot of stories about you. All very fascinating."

Tyrion glanced up to see Brienne coming closer, face guarded and a hand on the pommel of her sword.  _Gods, woman, what do you think I could do to him?_ "I'm sure that's all they are, Lord Tyrion. Just stories."

He peered at the young King. His modesty seemed sincere. "Well, I've been meaning to ask... How is my little wife?"

Snow's brow furrowed in confusion, but then his eyes narrowed and his upper lip twitched. He clenched his fists as he took a step forward. "She's not your wife!"

Tyrion held out his palms. That had not been a good opener. Was it the Ramsay history that had made him so protective? "I suppose not... She never talked about you, you know, in King's Landing."

Snow looked at his feet. "We weren't close as children."

"But now you are?"

He shrugged. "She's my only family now, all I have left."

Tyrion nodded and pressed his lips together.  _He'll never agree to it. Here's to hoping he won't throttle me or run me through with that sword._ "Queen Daenerys has been considering your condition."

Snow tilted his head and relaxed his stance. Missandei pressed her lips together, folding her hands. Tyrion ignored her. "She's decided to counter it with a condition of her own. She's concerned about ensuring Sansa's... friendship. She thinks it might be wise to bind the Queen in the North to her cause by renewing our marriage."

Snow frowned at him and forced the word out through clenched teeth: "No."

"I know I'm not the husband young girls dream of. But I think your sister's not a little girl anymore, she understands how the world works."

Snow closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's not that I'm opposed to  _you_  as a possible husband,Lord Tyrion. I know you were kind to her. But Sansa has sworn never to marry again, unless it's a man of her own choosing. And I've promised to do everything in my power to help her keep that vow."

 _And you actually mean that, don't you?_ "An admirable sentiment, but you must understand our predicament. If we grant the North its independence, how can we ensure they'll honour our alliance? How can we know they won't turn on us tomorrow or next year, or... ?"

He threw Tyrion an icy glare. "Well, you'll have me here, won't you?"

Was that it? Did he believe agreeing to the marriage would only make him a hostage to ensure the North's loyalty? Tyrion supposed that wasn't too far from the truth. "True, but-

Snow stepped closer, leaning over him. "No. No buts. I'm not changing my mind. If she wants me, that's the price she'll have to pay. If you'll excuse me now, My Lord."

He turned around to face Brienne. They drew their swords. Tyrion and Missandei retreated. "He's very stubborn. They're much alike," the scribe remarked in Valyrian.

 _Yes and no._ "I guess we'll find out which dragon is the most tenacious."

Judging from Missandei's face, Tyrion had used the right words. He turned his attention to the fight. Jon Snow wasn't able to hide his rage. Brienne was having a difficult time parrying his furious attacks. If she could keep up, she'd probably beat him though. Anger breeds mistakes and one would be enough for the beastly woman to overtake her King.

All at once, a great roar pierced Tyrion's ears. He didn't have to look back to see that it was Rhaegal. Daenerys had departed for Dorne two days before with Drogon and Viserion. She was going there to confer with Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria Sand about the defence of their coastlines against Euron Greyjoy's attacks. She'd planned to take the green dragon as well, but it had refused to leave Dragonstone. Daenerys hadn't failed to notice that her  _daughter_ had taken an interest in Jon Snow. She'd often fly over the beach or perch on a cliff to look at him during his daily sessions.  _"It's just the fighting. It excites them,"_ she'd dismissed this curious fact, but Tyrion knew it galled her, perhaps even frightened her.

The dragon wasn't planning on just watching today though. Instead of making for the cliffs, she was flying straight for the group of people on the beach. She landed a few feet away from them. The Dothraki closest to her scattered, screaming, and the dragon sent a growl and some perfunctory flames at them, burning one or two arms. She turned back to her target. The Lady Knight stepped in front of the King, but he pushed her aside, facing the dragon alone, showing no outward sign of fear. Missandei gripped Tyrion's shoulder and gasped. For a moment, Jon Snow and Rhaegal only stared at each other, then the dragon lunged forward. Tyrion witnessed how Jon Snow mimicked her movement, probably acting on some instinct he wasn't aware of. The dragon spread out her wings and opened her jaws. Snow flung out his sword and bellowed: "DOWN!"

And the dragon obeyed. She folded her wings back and bowed her magnificent head, blinking at him. Jon Snow stood frozen, breathing heavily. Gingerly he stretched out his hand, as if pulled in by an invisible force. He stroked the side of the dragon's head and huffed out a laugh. The dragon shrieked and curled out her left wing. Snow sheathed his sword. His brow furrowed in confusion and for an instant his eyes rolled back in his head. He tilted his chin, looking the dragon in the eye. "You want me to ride you?"

The dragon rolled her head, as if she was some monstrous parody of a dog. Snow took the invitation and climbed onto her back, an amazed look on his face. Rhaegal unfolded her enormous wings again and screeched happily. She propelled her wings twice and took off, cheered on by the Dothraki's excited cries. Tyrion stretched his neck, mouth hanging open, still staring at the pair long after they'd disappeared behind the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not be able to post any new chapters for about a week. My husband and I are busy moving and I don't know when we'll have an internet connection in our new house.
> 
> If I find the time, I will try to write 2 or 3 chapters and post them all next Wednesday.


	30. Chapter 30

It was Aurane Waters who had finally managed to convince Cersei that sending the Lannister army North would be a futile endeavour. The situation in King's Landing had become untenable. Even the inhabitants of the Red Keep had come to the point where they had to ration their food supplies. It would only be a matter of time before the starving crowds would storm the castle. The Lannister army had been able to hold it off for a little while longer by raiding the Crownlands for food, but their supplies were already dwindling swiftly again.

That is why Jaime found himself on the Rose Road, leading their host South to Highgarden. The city needed food and the only place left in the Seven Kingdoms where it was still abundantly available was The Reach. It seemed it was the only region that had been able to prepare for Winter properly.  _And it's all our fault, isn't it?_ It was Joffrey who had started this war, when he'd taken Ned Stark's head. Or perhaps it had been Jaime himself when he'd attacked the man outside of Littlefinger's brothel.  _Then again, it was his wife who took my brother in the first place._

It didn't matter anyway. The only thing that did is that this cycle of vengeance and violence never seemed to end.  _We'll kill everyone who isn't us._ And that was exactly what it was coming down to now. Jaime wondered if he still wanted there to be an us. If that 'us' had ever even existed in the first place. He knew it had to him, but to Cersei? He couldn't answer that question. Once there wouldn't have been a doubt in his mind, but these days he didn't even know who she was anymore. _Is she still the Cersei I loved?_ Or had Bronn been right and had she finally succumbed to madness, had she died with the last of their children?

Jaime had never cared about Joffrey, though Cersei had loved him fiercely. He'd recognized the boy for what he was. There was nothing to love.  _What is there left to love in_ her _now?_ But Myrcella and Tommen... They hadn't deserved to die. His sweet little girl had been murdered by those Dornish cunts who had allied themselved with the Dragon Bitch now. Tommen had taken his own life.  _Why?_ Had he loved the Tyrell girl that much? Did that mean it was Cersei who had killed him,even if he hadn't died by her hand or by any order of hers? Or was it just the tragic irony of life?

He didn't know what to believe anymore. Despite her last rejection of him, despite her determination to marry that madman Euron Greyjoy, Jaime found that he still couldn't close his heart to his sister.  _We came into this world together, and that's how we'll leave it._ And even if she succeeded, if she killed all her enemies, carried out all her plans of vengeance, what would come after that? But he knew he had come too far. He was in too deep to abandon her now.

Jaime looked up to see that the sun was already beginning to set. The days were ever growing shorter. He reined in his horse and turned to Bronn. "We'll set up camp here, we've come far enough for today."

As he watched the sun sink further behind the horizon, sending rays of bloody red up into the sky, he thought to himself:  _if it's fire and blood you want, Daenerys Targaryen, we can give you that too. Hear us roar!_


	31. Chapter 31

Jon and Rhaegal stayed up in the sky for hours. He'd been a bit apprehensive at first, wondering why he'd been unable to deny that pull he'd felt in his gut. While Rhaegal was taking off, gaining altitude, his stomach flipped and he'd feared several times he'd vomit all over her scaled neck. But once the dragon had reached the clouds and spread her wings to soar on the winds, he'd given in fully and he'd discovered that flying was one of the best feelings in the world.  
  


The air was cold and humid this high up, but the heat emanating from the dragon's body kept him warm. He felt free and light, unburdened by all the worries that had weighed him down for the last few months. A tingling sensation spread through his body, starting in his stomach and running all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He barked out a laugh and Rhaegal roared in response. She was enjoying this just as much as he was. 

As the hours passed by, Jon found himself slipping into the dragon's mind more often. It was magnificent, it was nothing like the moments he'd shared Ghost's skin. Direwolves were amongst the most intelligent animals alive, but a dragon was something else entirely. Rhaegal's self-awareness and perception of the world were almost equal to that of a human and yet even more than that. The beast held the power of destruction and she was completely aware of it. She knew what she was capable of and part of her relished in it.

Jon learned that the dragon had memories as well and through them he found out that she had a complex personality. She was proud and determined to prove herself. She was easily angered, but her temper burned out just as quickly as it flared. As they flew over Harrenhal, Rhaegal remembered how she'd been watching Jon, and he discovered she'd been drawn to him by that same inexplicable force. He detected a confusion of emotions at the edge of her mind, but then she pushed him out, angry she'd revealed her insecurities.

Rhaegal was jealous of her brothers. Of Drogon, who was clearly their mother's favourite. Of Viserion, who was the better hunter. She'd been terribly excited when she'd discovered Jon, hoping he would choose her the way Daenerys had chosen Drogon. Jon closed his eyes to try to re-establish their mental connection. Reluctantly Rhaegal let him in.  _I think you're the most beautiful. The way you fly is so graceful and flawless. And I bet you're much smarter than your brothers._ The dragon contemplated his thoughts, considering whether he was being truthful. Jon released her scales to pet her neck and she let out a shriek of delight.

Jon chuckled in disbelief. He knew there'd be time to think about what this all meant later, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the ride. He sighed.  _It's time to get you back home, girl._ Rhaegal showed him an image of Daenerys.  _I know she's not there right now, but she'll be back soon enough._ Jon thought the dragon would have shrugged then if she could do that in full flight. Yet after a few more minutes she turned around in mid-air, showing off her flying skills, making Jon laugh again. The sun had already set when they finally returned to Dragonstone.


	32. Chapter 32

Tyrion was still awake when the guards spotted Rhaegal on the horizon. He hurried out of his chambers and made for the beach where he knew the dragon would land. He'd been trying to focus on the affairs Daenerys had entrusted him with during her absence the entire day, but his mind kept replaying the scene he'd witnessed that morning. For a couple of minutes he had been sure that Snow was dead, that Rhaegal was going to set him alight and devour him. Instead the dragon had submitted to his will, as if it was nothing, and she'd even invited him to ride her.  _And how did he even know that?_

Tyrion wondered whether the Targaryen blood was that potent in Jon Snow. It seemed their suspicions had been confirmed. He'd thought about sending word to Daenerys several times, but had decided against it, lest the message ended up in the wrong hands. He'd also worried about the Queen's reaction to the report. It would be better to wait for her return, so he'd be more in control of the manner in which she'd receive the news.

At times he'd expected Snow not to return at all. At some point, Rhaegal might have grown bored with him and thrown him off. The dragon's reaction to him had been remarkable though. It had taken Daenerys years to finally tame Drogon and the other two had been difficult ever since they'd left Meereen. Rhaegal and Viserion usually followed their brother's lead, but they didn't react well to commands. Tyrion hadn't dared approaching them since the one time he'd visited them. He suspected their imprisonment might be the cause for their erratic behaviour.

_Dragons don't do well in captivity. And even the Targaryen kings after Aegon and his sisters had difficulties controlling their dragons._ But not Jon Snow. Somehow he'd known exactly what to do. Or perhaps he hadn't and it was pure luck, or instinct. Tyrion went over Snow's interaction with the dragon again. It reminded him of something he'd witnessed before, of that giant white direwolf of his. He remembered hearing some stories about the Starks being able to control animals with their minds. Was that what had happened?  _Dragons aren't ordinary animals though._

Tyrion watched as the dragon came ashore. He saw her bending her head so Jon Snow could slide down and off her neck. Rhaegal allowed Snow to scratch her chin, before taking off. The young man was still standing in the same spot, grinning when Tyrion reached him. "So, another impressive tale to add to the list, huh?"

Snow's face fell and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I didn't mean to... You'll have to tell her, I suppose?"

Tyrion frowned. "Of course I'll have to tell her. And I know you didn't mean to... whatever it is you did. I saw what happened...Though I'm afraid that doesn't mean I understand."

Snow shifted his weight awkwardly. "Me neither..."

Tyrion tried to coax him: "What do you think happened?"

Snow pushed back his wind-swept hair before letting his hands drop to his side. "It's as if- no, it really is... I could read her mind. I've always had a connection like this with Ghost, my direwolf, but it was usually only in my dreams. The Free Folk said it was called warging."

Tyrion nodded, trying not to snort. Despite the fact it all sounded ridiculous, he couldn't really dismiss it either after the things he'd witnessed. Snow rubbed his beard. "I've seen others doing it with birds... And Ghost always made sense, but a dragon? I think I remember hearing you shouldn't even try it with cats, because they're too difficult..."

He looked up, his face contorted in confusion. "I suppose dragons can be a bit like cats, yes. Stubborn little things as well, except they're huge and magical and they breathe fire."

They smirked at each other. Snow sighed. "I thought only Targaryens were able to ride a dragon, to bond with it. They're supposed to have some kind of magic in their blood or something? So how was I able to... I don't even know... It all seems like a dream, really. Didn't you use to read all those books about dragons?"

Tyrion nodded, but then shrugged and shook his head. He'd known the lad wasn't stupid. He was asking all the right questions.  _So you want to wait until we know beyond any doubt? Yes, I won't overwhelm him with such a revelation before we are certain._ They were as certain now as they were ever going to get. Perhaps he should still wait for Daenerys to return though, perhaps it was not his story to tell.

He turned to Snow, who was staring at him expectantly. He tried to imagine Daenerys telling him the truth. For some reason he couldn't imagine that going too well. _I should just tell him._  It would also give him some time to process the news before he and the Queen had to face each other. Tyrion took a deep breath. "I think there might be an explanation for what happened today."


	33. Chapter 33

Jon's head was spinning, rendering his vision blurred. His knees gave out. "No. It's not true. It can't be."

Tyrion's voice came to him as if from a great distance. "I'm afraid it is. We don't really have any tangible proof, but if you put all the pieces together... You are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

 _Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins._ Apparently it didn't. "No. Eddard Stark was my father. He wouldn't have lied to me, to everyone... To Lady Catelyn."

He felt Tyrion's hand squeeze his shoulder. "He had to, Jon. Rhaegar's other children were brutally murdered. Daenerys had to run from Robert's assassins for most of her life. What do you think would have happened if your - uncle had told the truth to  _anyone."_

He knew Tyrion's explanation made sense, but still... The words came out in a whisper. "He could have told me."

Jon blinked furiously, trying to focus on the dwarf's face. He heard him sigh. "You were a child, how could he expect you to keep such a secret?"

His next objection came out in a roar. "He should have told his wife! Perhaps she wouldn't have hated me so much then! Maybe my life wouldn't have been so miserable!"

He'd fallen to his hands and knees now, madly driving his fingers into the sand. He struggled to his feet. He realized tears were running down his face. He rubbed them away. Tyrion was staring at him, eyes full of pity. "He must have thought it too dangerous. He did it to protect you. He saved your life!"

Jon barked out a laugh. "And what a life it has been!"

Always out of place, never a true part of the family. Condemned to a life on the Wall, spurned even there, all because he was a bastard. And now it turned out he probably wasn't. His whole life had been a lie, a pathetic, fucking lie. His voice came out strangled. "All my life, I wanted to be a Stark, all the while knowing my wish would never come true, feeling guilty for even wanting it. But at least I found some comfort knowing I was the son of a great, honourable man. It was all I had. And now I don't even have that anymore. My brothers and sisters..."

What would they say if they could see him now? Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon... Sansa.  _Sansa. She's not my sister._ Would she still want him now, knowing what he was? He couldn't go back, could he, tearing open a wound she might have started to heal by now; breaking his own heart again if she rejected him... Besides, he was still here, he was still supposed to marry - 

"My Aunt? Daenerys is my Aunt?"

Tyrion nodded. "She is."

It dawned on him. "She knew, didn't she?"

Jon watched as his own hands closed around the dwarf's throat when the answer didn't come immediately. Fingers clawed at his wrists. He released Tyrion and whispered: "I'm sorry."

The other man nodded, rubbing throat. "We had strong suspicions."

Jon glared at him. "No. She knew. That's why she's so desperate to marry me. That's why she wants me to swear I'll never usurp her throne."

He didn't wait for an answer, spinning around to find a new target for his fury and spotted a vaguely familiar figure in the distance. It couldn't be him, could it? He looked different and yet it must be. His body responded before he could make the conscious decision. In what seemed no more than the blink of an eye, he'd closed the distance between them and come face to face with Theon Greyjoy.

Theon blinked at him, confused by the sudden company and then recognized him, eyes widening in terror at the murderous rage that must be apparent on his face. "J-Jon!"

He clenched his teeth. "Theon. Why?"

Theon trembled and stuttered: "J-Jon. I-I'm sorry, Jon. I r-really am!"

Jon grabbed the front of his cloak, shaking him. "You're sorry, Theon? You're sorry? You betrayed Robb! He was our brother, Theon! And now he's gone! You took Winterfell, you burned it down!"

Theon was sobbing and blubbering by now. "I didn't do it, Jon, I didn't! It was Ramsay who burned it. You don't know what he did to me..."

Theon's feet were dangling three inches from the ground. "Don't say my name! I do know what he did, and you deserved all of it! Do you remember Bran and Rickon, Theon?"

He released the other man, who crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap. "I didn't kill them, you have to believe me!"

Jon stared at him in disgust, rage thundering in his chest and ears. "Oh, I know. You killed two innocent boys instead. Ramsay killed Rickon! I saw it happening, right in front of my eyes! Bran is probably dead too by now!"

He realized the roar wasn't just inside his body anymore, as a gust of wind almost swept him off his feet. Rhaegal had returned. He felt her behind him, saw the look of terror on Theon's face. "Jon, watch out!"

Their minds connected, one's swirling fury feeding the other's. He grinned at the man at his feet, stepping aside. "Oh, no, Theon, you better watch out."

Rhaegal opened her jaws. "Jon, please, I know I can never make things right again, but I'm trying. I helped Sansa!"

Jon blinked once, seeing Sansa's face before his mind's eye. Her eyes, her smile, her hair flowing loosely down her shoulders.  _He did, he helped Sansa, if he hadn't..._ The rage didn't disappear completely, but the worst of it dissipated. Rhaegal stopped in her tracks as well, confused by the new image in Jon's mind and the emotions surrounding it. She tilted her head to look at him. He reached back to pat her nose. "Go, girl, it's alright."

She shrieked and took off again. Jon glanced at Theon one last time, before turning around to get back to the castle. Tyrion stood gaping as he strode past him. Jon smirked at him, snorting to himself as he left the beach. By the time he'd reached the gates he was laughing out loud, ignoring the alarmed looks from the Unsullied guards.  _I'm looking forward to your return, Aunt Dany._


	34. Chapter 34

Dany found Jon Snow on the beach, sitting on a large boulder, studying something he was holding in his right hand. He didn't look up when she approached, though she knew he must have heard her. She took the opportunity to collect her thoughts, but got distracted by the movement of his hand. In his palm was a small silver locket in the shape of a rose, inlaid with sapphires. He was caressing the gems with the tip of his thumb, a soft smile on his face and a far-away look in his eyes. "Where is she now, the woman who gave you that jewel?"

He didn't answer, still not acknowledging her presence. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away from her touch. "Jon?"

He closed his hand tightly around the locket and looked up, offering her a hard smile that didn't reach his eyes. "This? It's just a little trinket my _sister_ gave me when I left Winterfell."

Dany bit her lip at the way he emphasized the word 'sister', but couldn't help the small huff that escaped her mouth. The lie was easily spotted. The look on his face hadn't been one of brotherly love. It spoke of longing, want, loss. She chuckled. "Your  _sister?_ I'm sorry, Jon, but I don't think I believe that... Who is she? Do you love her?"

He gave her that hard look again. "More than my own life."

Was that why he had been so reluctant all the time? He should know that love had nothing to do with it. Dany ignored the sharp pang in her own heart at his revelation.  _I could make him forget her, if he only let me... Pull yourself together!_ Her thoughts went to Daario. Once she'd thought she loved him too. But love no longer had a place in her life. It was nothing more than a distraction from her true goal.

 _If that's true, then why-_ She shook her head. "I understand, Jon, I really do. I left the man I loved behind as well. But I'm a Queen, you're a King. We can't let our personal feelings interfere with what's best for the realm."

He rose to his feet, taking a step forward until he was towering over her. His threatening stance did strange things to her body. His eyes were icy, his voice was low and steady. "And this is what's best for the realm? Keeping secrets from me? Deceiving me? Tricking me into a marriage I don't want? Would you care to explain that to me,  _Dany_?"

She almost flinched, but met his glare with fire in her eyes. "It is. I had no way of knowing whether you could be trusted. I couldn't risk it. Uniting our claims is the only way to ensure stability."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Is it? I never asked for any of this. I only care about the North, about my people, about my family."

Dany found herself distracted by the heat rolling off his body, by his scent, by the closeness of his face. She shuddered. "You need my help."

He searched her eyes for a moment and her gaze dropped to his full lips. He only kept staring at her with a face that could have been carved from stone. Eventually he sighed and whispered: "Perhaps... But I don't know if I still want it. I'm afraid you only care about yourself."

Dany had to bite her lip to keep the tears from springing to her eyes as she examined his face. He didn't say that out of spite, he didn't say it to hurt her. He actually believed that. He turned away from her. "This isn't just about us. This is a secret you can't keep forever. You want an alliance with the North. Let me tell you, if my bannermen find out who I really am, I'll lose the North. If you insist on going through with this marriage, you'll lose them forever."

She blinked and stared up at him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let me go home, promise me you'll help me against the White Walkers and I'll sign whatever you want me to sign. The Iron Throne is yours, I don't want it."

She frowned at him. "Go home? But you just said..."

He smiled, clutching the locket that was still in his hand to his chest. "There might be a way, but I can't tell you until I'm certain."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And you just expect me to trust you?"

He answered without a moment's hesitation. " _I've_ never lied to you before."

She couldn't argue with his logic, but still... "Fine. If you prove to me I can trust you, I'll let you go home."

He narrowed his eyes. "How?"

Perhaps there was still hope... If she only had a little more time. She beamed at him. "Help me take King's Landing."


	35. Chapter 35

Dany sank down on the same boulder Jon had been sitting on, clasping her hands together. When she'd made her request, he had only answered: "We'll see," before storming off. She supposed the conversation had gone better than she'd hoped. Jon had been oddly calm, but his words had given her much to think about.

He'd promised to find a way to secure an alliance with the North, but he wouldn't share any details with her. He didn't trust her. And why would he? And then there had been that other revelation. Dany cursed herself for letting it affect her so much.  _Why do I want him? Is it because he's my only family? Is it because he's so attractive? Is it because he's everything I expected him to be and yet not?_

Whoever his lover was, she was a lucky woman. Perhaps she should have someone find out about her, Varys or Tyrion...  _Oh Tyrion._ She'd taken all her anger out on him, though she'd been fully aware he was not to blame. It had all been Rhaegal. She hadn't even dared to broach that subject with Jon.  _Let me go home._ Would he take Rhaegal with him? Would she even want to stay? When she lost something that had never been hers to begin with, would she also lose one of her children?

Tyrion had told her everything he had witnessed and she hadn't liked any of it. The respect the Dothraki were developing for Jon Snow. His strange bond with Rhaegal and his seemingly perfect control of her. What had happened with Theon Greyjoy... If it had been Drogon, she wouldn't have been able to stop him.

Dany admired Jon Snow and she was attracted to him, but part of her was terrified of him. She had the largest army in the continent, three dragons and alliances with Dorne and the Reach. She had Tyrion and Varys for the political side. She hadn't even counted on Jon being a real threat. She'd hoped it would go the way it had with Drogo. She'd use sex to control him and with a little luck he'd come to love her, just as her Sun and Stars had. She'd never met a man who didn't want her before, and she'd be a fool not to use it. Jon Snow was the first and of course he would also be the one Dany wanted. 

She looked up to see her Hand approaching her. He stopped a few feet away from her, studying her face. "I'm sorry, Tyrion. I know it's not your fault."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "So, how did it go?"

Dany laughed bitterly. "You can say it."

"Say what?"

"I told you so..."

He sighed and sat down beside her. "I suppose I could say that, but it wouldn't fix any damage that has already been done. It was a difficult decision to make, I understand that... What did he say? What did he want?"

Dany bit her lip. "He said he doesn't care about the Iron Throne. He wants to go home. He promised me an alliance with the North. I asked him to help me take King's Landing."

Tyrion glanced up at her. "That's good, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. But how do I know I can trust him?"

He drew a couple of circles in the sand with the tip of his boot before answering: "He seems willing to trust you again, despite what you've done. That's a good sign... What else is bothering you?"

She pushed herself to her feet and started walking away. "It doesn't matter."

"Apparently it does."

She kept her back to Tyrion as she explained: "He has a locket wrought to look like a blue rose. He said it was a gift from his sister, but... Well, you know..."

He had come up beside her. "A blue rose? You think he has a lover?"

Dany still avoided looking at his face. "He said he loved her more than his own life."

Tyrion let out a low whistle and patted her arm. "Life is cruel. It so often denies us what we want."

"I guess that's true... But I did this, didn't I? Before he found out, he'd agreed to marry me... Nothing has changed, except that he knows I lied to him."

She couldn't, wouldn't give up, not as long as there was still a small chance. Finally she met Tyrion's eyes. "Who do you think she is?"

He frowned at her. "His lover? Why don't you ask him?"

She smiled sadly. "I did. He wouldn't tell me."

Tyrion didn't answer. She turned her head to look at him. He was stroking his beard, his eyes narrowed. "What?"

He shook his head, as if startled. "Just thinking too much, as usual. It's probably nothing."


	36. Chapter 36

Jon entered the Chamber of the Painted Table. He'd received a message there was to be an emergency council he was required to attend. It seemed he was the first to arrive. He walked around the table until he could place his left hand over the dot indicating Winterfell. With his other hand he pulled out Sansa's locket. He decided to open it, so he could touch the lock of hair she'd pinned to the inside. It felt silkier than he remembered, the colour was brighter than it was in his dreams and her scent was simply intoxicating.  _Soon,_ he thought to himself.

Someone else had entered the room and was standing on the other side of the Table. It was Daenerys, a frown on her face and her eyes on his hands. He quickly snapped the locket shut. He noticed how her eyes lingered on it before she walked around the Northern end of the Table. When she was right next to him, a little too close to his liking, she asked:  "Have you considered my request?"

"I have."

She raised her eyebrows. "And?"

He closed his eyes. "This is not my fight. I told you I don't care about the Iron Throne."

Dany's face twisted into that expression Jon thought made her look like an angry child. "You are my nephew, Jon."

He shrugged. "Something you didn't even care to share with me until you were forced to do so. We hardly know each other."

She reached up to cup his cheek. "Then why don't we try to get to know each other a little better?"

He pressed his lips together and pulled her hand away from his face, holding it in his own. "Dany, please don't."

She squeezed his hand tightly and looked down with a trembling lip. "I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm sorry, I truly am. I hope you can forgive me some day. I feel I've ruined any chance I might have had with you."

Jon tilted his head back, dropping her hand and sighing.  _I wish I didn't have to say this._ "I'm sorry, Dany, but you never had a chance with me."

Her eyes were glistening when she met his. "You really don't want me?"

_Gods._ He really didn't understand why this was so important to her. She didn't even know him. "We can be family... Isn't that enough?"

Her hands came up to rub her arms and she nodded, trying to smile. He tried to look at her, really look at her. He could see she was an attractive woman, he wasn't blind. She had a pretty face and a nice figure. The silvery hair gave her beauty an alien quality. She did look exotic, he supposed. But then again, so had the Red Woman. How could he explain it had nothing to do with her? Women liked to hear something poetic, right? But he wasn't good with words.

He glanced out the window where the full moon was occupying the sky and inspiration hit him. "You  _are_ beautiful, Dany _._ But it's hard to still see the moon, when you've been blinded by the sun."

She offered him a small grin. "She must be quite special."

He smiled back brightly. "She is."

Dany swallowed and nodded. "You still haven't answered my question though."

Jon had to shake his head to collect his thoughts, which had become filled with red and cream and pink and blue. "You mean King's Landing? I suppose you don't want to send any of your troops to the Wall before you've taken the capital?"

She bit her lip. "I can't risk it. You said we'll need all the forces of Westeros combined if we want to stand a chance."

He nodded. "Aye, I did."

She squared her shoulders. "I can't offer you that until I've united the Seven Kingdoms behind me."

It wouldn't have to take long, they just needed a good plan.  _And then I can finally go home._ "Alright then, I'll help you."


	37. Chapter 37

As the members of her council and Davos Seaworth and Brienne of Tarth took their places around the table, Dany tried to focus on the matter at hand. The Lannister army was marching on Highgarden. The armies of the Reach were busy defending the coastlines against Euron's raiders. Yara and Theon Greyjoy had also been attacking the Ironborn rebels from the sea, but they'd already suffered some heavy losses. 

They hadn't received any news from the Sand Snakes after Dany had left Sunspear. Rumour had it that Ellaria Sand had been delivered to Euron's Ironborn by some malcontent Dornishmen led by the Daynes. The small garrison defending Highgarden would never stand a chance against the entire Lannister force. As maester Pylos recited the letters through which they'd learned this news and informed the council on the situation in King's Landing, Dany struggled to keep her eyes and thoughts from drifting to Jon Snow.  _This is not the time,_ she told herself,  _you're the Queen. There are more important things that require your attention right now._

She'd seen what was inside Jon's locket: a shiny lock of dark red hair. She tried to imagine what his lover looked like. The way Jon had spoken about her, his rejection... It hurt. Still she couldn't help wondering, if he loved this woman so much, why had he agreed to marry _her_ before? Why hadn't he married his lover? What had changed?

Dany forced herself to listen to the maester. It seemed he'd just finished the last letter with the news from Dorne. She took a deep breath. "Out of all these matters, I think Dorne will have to wait. We can't act on rumours alone and we don't have time to deal with their civil war now. Ellaria Sand knew the risks when she staged her coup."

The people in the room murmured their agreement. "Now, what will we do about the Lannister army?"

Tyrion rubbed his hands together. "I say we do nothing at all. My sweet sister has sent her entire army away from King's Landing. That's where we have to strike. And I wouldn't mind if we struck hard."

Dany nodded. This was an opportunity they couldn't allow to pass. Varys leaned forward. "If I may, Your Grace, I think we should consider the reason Cersei has sent her entire host to Highgarden. The people of King's Landing are starving. The Lannister woman doesn't really care about that, but someone in her inner circle must realize how dangerous a city full of people who have nothing to lose can be."

"Fair enough. But we could use that to our advantage, right?"

Missandei frowned. "Like Yunkai and Meereen? We convince the people of King's Landing that we've come to liberate them from Cersei Lannister?"

Varys folded his hands. "That might work."

Davos Seaworth cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Let's assume this plan works and you take King's Landing, wouldn't you still be facing the same problem as Cersei Lannister? How are you planning on feeding your people?"

Maester Pylos concurred: "Ser Davos has a point."

Dany bit her lip. She couldn't deny that. "We could import the food from Essos..."

The maester answered: "We could, Your Grace, but it would be expensive and it would take too long. I think Highgarden still has enough stores to share some of them with King's Landing. And Lady Olenna wouldn't mind if feeding the people wasn't beneficial to the Lannister woman any longer."

Tyrion nodded. "So we focus on King's Landing and try to salvage the bounty my brother will bring back from Highgarden?"

Varys tilted his head. "And deny Highgarden any help? Allow Ser Jaime to raid and pillage his way through the Reach? What kind of message would you be sending to your people, Your Grace?"

"You're right, Lord Varys. We can't just allow the Kingslayer to do that."

She noticed Brienne of Tarth exchange an uncomfortable look with Jon Snow. 

Grey Worm squared his shoulders. "The Unsullied will stop the Lannister army for you, My Queen."

"The Unsullied alone won't be enough," Tyrion mused, "you'll need cavalry as well."

Brienne of Tarth spoke up for the first time. "And what about King's Landing, Lord Tyrion?"

Dany tapped her fingers on the table. "We have the numbers to focus on both at the same time."

Tyrion swirled his wine around in his cup. "We do, but we needn't act in King's Landing yet. All we have to do is block all entrances into the city, the port, the gates, and wait. That way we can focus on defeating my brother's army."

Dany smiled. "My khalassar and my dragons will annihilate them."

Tyrion frowned. "Your dragons could get there in a few days, but they won't be enough. We have to acknowledge that Jaime will have successfully raided Highgarden by the time the Dothraki can get there."

"It doesn't matter. We'll attack them with our entire force and take everything they've stolen back from them."

The maester exclaimed: "Your Grace! I would advise you to be more cautious! You can't afford to trust on brute force and numbers alone. The losses would be too heavy and we would be risking the supplies from Highgarden!"

All the faces around the Table turned to her expectantly, except for Jon Snow, who was rubbing his forehead. Davos addressed Tyrion. "My Lord, you have some experience in military matters... What do you suggest?"

Tyrion sighed. "I'm afraid my military career was short-lived, even if succesful. My experience is fairly limited."

Davos nodded. "We have to figure out how to use our advantages and their disadvantages."

Jon looked around the Table. "They'll be moving slow because of their supply train, right? And you have the numbers to attack them from all sides?"

Dany nodded. "What are you suggesting?"

"If you could separate the real fighting forces from the supply section, it would be less at risk."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "And how would you do that?"

Jon's brow furrowed. "You have to force them to use and expend their full strength agaist you. You have the numbers, you have the dragons. It should work. You should start with a frontal attack, archers or throwing spears."

He glanced at Grey Worm, who nodded at him. "Then you send in a first group of cavalry, to break their front line. They'll have to move their troops forward, if they want to stand a chance. The dragons could attack from above. The Lannisters will disperse quickly enough then."

Dany leaned forward eagerly. "And what would you do next?"

He met her gaze. "You move in from the flanks, so there's no way out. They won't abandon the supply train completely, but it will be relatively easy for a fourth group to take it."

Tyrion raised his cup. "Sounds like a plan to me! Let's discuss the specifics over a little more wine!"

 


	38. Chapter 38

Sansa let her robe fall to the floor and studied her naked body in the mirror. For the first time in months it didn't bother her to look at it. She felt proud of it, because of what was happening inside her. She turned to the side to discern any changes. She knew it was too early to see anything yet, but if she squinted her eyes and the light was just right, she thought she was able to see a little bump. Her breasts were definitely more sensitive and her stomach was upset most days until midday, but she didn't mind. She and Jon had made this baby together and by some miracle it had even survived the poison that had been meant to kill Sansa. She smiled and caressed her belly. "You're strong, like your father."

She untied her braid and ran her fingers through her hair until it fell loosely around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and pretended it were Jon's hands stroking her tresses.  _Jon loves my hair._ If he were here, he'd nuzzle her cheek and neck and kiss every scar on her body. Sansa moaned as she sank down into the bath tub. The hot water was pleasant, but she pined for something else. 

She missed Jon so much it caused an ache in her heart and lower, in her loins as well.She missed his touch, the way he smelled, his arms around her and his warmth. She closed her eyes and slipped a hand between her thighs. She found the hood of her nub with her middlefinger and started rubbing it back and forth. She imagined Jon kissing her neck, releasing a sigh into her ear.

As she started kneading her breasts, she remembered the feeling of his hot wet mouth closing around her nipple. She pinched it and a surprised "oh" escaped her lips. She started drawing circles around her nub, slowly increasing the speed and pressure. If Jon were with her in the tub, he'd pull her into his lap so she could sink down on him and take in his entire length. He'd feel so good inside of her. She would be full and complete.

Behind her closed eyelids she could see the look on his face as she'd ride him, his eyes dark and his soft lips slightly parted. He'd press them together and grip the edge of the tub until his knuckles stood white against the skin of his hands. He'd ask her to touch herself. She arched her back and began grinding her hips against her own hand. Her movements made the water lap against her folds in warm waves. It felt nice. 

Jon would bury his face between her breasts and grab her hips to guide her. She would feel his hot breath on her skin as he groaned because her rhythm was growing more urgent. He'd gaze up at her face, thrusting up into her, and whisper: " _Come for me, my sweet Sansa."_

 _Yes, Jon, I'm close, so close!_ Her peak took her with such great force she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out. She closed her thighs around her arm and squeezed repeatedly until the waves of pleasure had receded. She sighed and grinned in relief. Still, after a couple of minutes, when she'd come down completely, she felt a little empty and a couple of tears spilled from her eyes.  _Please come back to me._


	39. Chapter 39

Sansa had to grip the edge of the round table in her solar for support. "No, it can't be."

"All the evidence points towards her and she's confessed," Littlefinger's voice rasped, "it was Lana."

She looked up at the smug little smile on his face. "But.. Why?"

He gripped her shoulder and leaned in. Internally she cringed, but she was too dazed to react properly. "It seems she's been in league with Cersei's man Qyburn the entire time. She met him in Oldtown, while Maester Barth was studying at the Citadel. Her big brother was too busy with other things to take care of the poor little thing and Qyburn stepped in."

Sansa jerked her chin up. She thought there was something else in his voice, an accusation almost. His expression confirmed her suspicions and she didn't need any words to hear the message underneath his explanation.  _"I'm here for you while he's busy down South. I'm the one who saved you. I found the one who tried to kill you, not him."_

He would take any opportunity to turn her against Jon. She kept her face smooth, but internally she was gloating. Baelish already considered Jon his rival, because he had Sansa's trust and allegiance. She tried to imagine his reaction if he found out Jon had her in a way he never would. She released the table, raising herself to her full length and pulling away from his grip.  _No, you didn't save me. It was Arya._ Her voice was steady and cool now. "And what about the maester?"

He shrugged. "His ignorance seems genuine. He did everything in his power to save your life. There's no reason to suspect him."

She sat down in her chair daintily and reached to pour him a cup of wine. "I thank you for your efficiency, Lord Baelish."

Littlefinger pursed his lips at her cool response, but took his seat to sip at his wine with an amused look in his eyes. He tapped his foot and smirked. "I've heard about your other little problem, Sansa."

Sansa blinked at him in confusion. "Other little problem? I'm afraid I don't understand you, My Lord."

He chuckled. "Oh, I think you do. You may rest assured, no one else suspects and I pay my people well. They won't tell. But you know you won't be able to hide it forever."

Her mouth almost fell open when his eyes darted to her belly. Of course he'd found out. But could he possibly know... "I appreciate your concern, but there's no need for it."

He raised his eyebrow. "Isn't there? What would your bannermen think if they found out their Queen had a bastard in her belly?"

She stared at him coldly. "They'd think what I told them to think."

He considered her for a moment. "Would they? And what if they ask you about the father?"

Sansa folded her hands on the table. "I like to believe my lords know their courtesies. A lady has a right to keep some secrets, a Queen even more so."

He offered her a half-smile. "You think such an answer would be enough to satisfy them?"

 _I think it should be enough to satisfy you. It's none of your business._ "Have you heard about the Mormont women, Lord Baelish?"

He shook his head, inviting her to continue. "The Mormonts have ruled Bear Island for as long as the North can remember, and from time to time they have been faced with a certain problem. You see, in some generations, the Mormont men died before they were able to father any children. In some generations, no men were born at all. The Ladies Mormont were reluctant to risk giving up their name and power through marriage, so they took lovers to provide them with heirs. If anyone questioned the legitimacy of their children, they told them they were fathered by a bear."

Baelish inclined his head. "A lovely little tale. I'm sure you could enlighten me as to the point of you telling me this?"

She beamed at him. "Of course. My son will be a Stark and I will name him my heir. And if anyone dares to question his legitimacy, I will simply tell them his father was a wolf."

She studied his face, looking for signs of comprehension. She didn't find any. "Your son?"

She shrugged. "Or daughter."

"It might work," he mused, leaning back in his chair, "Northerners are a quaint sort. But it's not too late to take care of it, if that's what you want."

"No."

His face was expressionless, but she saw the glint in his eyes before he could mask it.  _And now it comes._ "Or I could marry you and claim the child as my own."

Sansa didn't even try to hold in her sigh. "I've told you on several occasions that now is not the opportune time for me to marry anyone, Lord Baelish."

His entire body tensed. "That's what you keep telling me, Sansa. You keep singing the same song, but it's starting to sound less and less convincing. What's the real reason for your reluctance?"

She met his gaze, staring back at him, refusing to look away. She only allowed her eyes to flicker to his white knuckles. His anger and bluntness worried her, but she also knew they were a good sign. He was starting to lose his carefully crafted composure.  _You never should have told me about that little picture of yours, Petyr._ "If you keep asking me the same question without any noticeable change in the situation, why would you even expect a different answer? If my  _song_ is starting to sound less and less convincing, that might just be because I'm tired of having to repeat it all the time."

Before he could answer, the door swung open with a bang and revealed the Hound, Bran in his arms and Arya by his side. She could tell from his face he was in a foul mood. He glared at Baelish and grunted: "Out with you, Mockingbird. The little Wolf Queen is having supper with her brother and sister, and you were not invited."

Littlefinger was still trying to stare her down, but Sansa simply offered him a demure smile. "Thank you, Lord Baelish. That will be all."

Stiffly he rose to his feet and nodded before striding out of the room, while the Hound fastened Bran into his chair. Arya took the seat Baelish had vacated, lounging back and sniffing at the wine left in his cup. Sansa put a hand on the Hound's arm as he was making for the door. He scowled down at her. "Thank you, Sandor."

His face softened. "Anytime, Little Bird."

Sansa sighed and rubbed her forehead while Amma and one of the kitchen maids set the table. She was trying to process what had happened with Baelish. This was a dangerous game she was playing. She would never give him what he wanted and it was becoming harder for her to offer him the occasional kiss or kind word to keep him satisfied. The idea that she'd slept with another man must have unsettled him, but she knew he wasn't beyond using that information against her if he thought it might serve him in the long run. He would be leaving soon to negotiate her deal with the Iron Bank, but she knew he had people in Winterfell who would be furthering the machinations of his game during his absence.  _I need to get rid of him. Soon._ She was startled from her thoughts by Bran's voice. "Sansa, eat. Your body needs it."

She smiled at him and nodded. She tore off a piece of bread and started to bring the contents of her plate to her mouth, not noticing what was on it. Arya threw her cutlery down on her own plate with a loud clang. Sansa blinked at her. "I've been thinking about Jon," she said, "and I think you should marry him as soon as possible."

Sansa tried to close her mouth as she stared at her sister's determined face."Wh-what?"

Arya chewed her lip. "Don't get any ideas. This doesn't mean I understand what you two did and I don't aprrove, but... Do you love him?"

"I do."

"And he must love you. Jon wouldn't... I guess it's settled then. We can't let him marry Daenerys, he'd have to stay in King's Landing. If he marries you, he can stay here with us. I suppose I'll get used to it"

Sansa reached across the table to grab her sister's hands as a single tear escaped from her left eye. "Gods, Sansa, please don't start crying again. Now, we need to get a message to Jon."

Bran looked up from his plate. "I've already told you we don't need to do anything. Jon will come back without any intervention on our behalf."

Arya banged her fist on the table. "We can't just sit around waiting for him doing nothing!"

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her hands. "I agree. We can't. But I can't figure out a safe way to deliver that message. We don't know what Daenerys might do to him if she finds out. And I don't think it's something we can just put in a letter either. What am I supposed to write? 'Dear Jon, you're not my brother. You can't marry Daenerys, she's your aunt. Come back home and marry me instead. P.S. I'm going to have your baby.'?"

Arya scrunched her nose and recoiled. Bran only chuckled: "I suppose not."

"I'll go and tell him myself."

"Arya, no. I only just got you back. I'm not letting you go again."

She glared at her. "You know it's the only way. You need to stay here in Winterfell. Bran can't go either. As you've pointed out, there's no one we could trust to deliver such a message. It has to be me"

Sansa closed her eyes. She knew her sister was right, but she wasn't ready to accept it yet. "I'll think about it."

Arya opened her mouth again, but was interrupted by Bran. "So Lord Baelish found out who poisoned you?"

"He did. I still can't believe it. I thought Lana was my friend."

"I'll kill her for you."

"No."

Arya leapt to her feet. "What do you mean, 'no'?" She was poisoning you, Sansa."

She didn't answer, but got up to retrieve something from one of her cabinets. Bran and Arya watched as she unwrapped Oathkeeper and placed it in the middle of the table. "I know that sword. It was Brienne of Tarth's, right?"

She nodded. "Jaime Lannister gave it to her to fulfill her oath to our Mother. Tywin had Father's sword Ice melted down and reforged into two swords. This is one of them. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Or woman."

Arya frowned at her. "Do you even know how to swing a sword, Sansa?"

"I don't. But you could show me."

"Yes, but it's not easy to cut off someone's head. I'm not sure you could do it."

Sansa met her sister's gaze. "I don't need to be able to cut off her head. I only need to cut a rope."


	40. Chapter 40

Arya wrapped an awkward arm around her sister's shoulders and patted her hair as she lay sobbing against her neck in Father's - now Jon's bed. She desperately wanted to comfort her, to make her stop crying, but she couldn't find the right words. "I thought it would be easy," Sansa whispered, "but it wasn't. I didn't expect it to feel as good as with Ramsay, but- it- it was awful!"

"You did well. I'm proud of you."

Sansa nodded mechanically. She had done it. Part of Arya had thought that she wouldn't actually go through with it, but Sansa had executed Lana, the serving girl who had been poisoning her. At times she found it hard to believe that this strong, determined Queen was the same Sansa who had once been nothing more than her naive, silly sister.  _We've all changed so much._ But despite all that, Arya understood that Sansa was not a killer, would never truly be one, not the way she herself was. 

The first time she'd tried to swing Oathkeeper, she'd actually dropped it and it had crashed to the floor with a loud clang. But Sansa had always been a fast learner, and she'd managed to master the basics in a relatively short time. She probably wouldn't be able to win a fight against even an inexperienced boy, but she didn't need to. As she'd said, she would only need to cut a rope and she had done that just fine.

She'd faced her would-be killer with straight shoulders and a cold face, condemning her to death by hanging for attempted murder and treason. A couple of guards had wrapped the noose around her neck and Sansa had asked for her last words. The girl had only spat at her: " _Just do it!"._

Sansa had nodded and the Wildling Tormund had handed Oathkeeper to her. She'd closed her eyes for a moment and Arya had detected the tension in her shoulders, though her face had remained immovable. After a couple of deep breaths, she'd brought the blade down in one smooth stroke and Lana had dropped. Sansa had not looked away as she struggled and writhed, her face slowly turning blue, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. Arya had witnessed how the Lords had stood watching her in awe. The Hound's eyes had grown wide at the sight and he'd grunted in approval.

It was only after, when Sansa had left the courtyard, Arya on her heels, that she'd started running for the Lord's chamber. When she'd collapsed on the bed, she had burst into tears, her breath coming out in hysterical sobs. Now the sisters were lying on top of the furs, wrapped up in an awkard and unfamiliar embrace. "You should have let me do it."

"No! I couldn't," Sansa's voice came out, surprisingly steady, as she untangled herself from her sister's arms. Arya sighed.  _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._ Those had been Father's words and Sansa had repeated them several times, when Arya had shown reluctance to teach her how to use a sword. Sansa hugged the furs to her chest and nuzzled her face against the pillows. "I wish Jon was here."

Arya flinched and sat up, crossing her legs. She still had trouble grasping how her brother and sister's relationship could have changed like that. When they had been children, Sansa had hardly considered Jon worthy of her attention and Jon himself had often joined Arya in making fun of Sansa's silly, ladylike behaviour. There had of course also been those times Jon had defended Sansa when Robb had stolen her dolls or pulled her hair. There had been that one time when Arya had watched in horror as Jon obeyed when Sansa had ordered him to brush out her hair because she hadn't liked the way her maid did it and Mother had been too busy.

Perhaps Mother was the one to blame? She'd always tried to keep a distance between Jon and her own children and she'd been most succesful with Sansa. By the time King Robert had arrived in Winterfell, Jon and Sansa had practically been strangers to one another. Sansa had told her some of the things that had happened to her, to Jon, but Arya knew there were still many things she hadn't shared, perhaps also things she didn't even know about Jon. Arya had told some of her own stories, but not nearly all of them.

Finding her sister again, so familiar and so strange at the same time, a piece of her life before the world had fallen apart had been undescribable to Arya. Had it been even more so to Jon and Sansa, who must have thought they were alone in the world until they'd laid eyes on each other? Was this what happened when two people only had each other to cling to after everything they'd been through? She couldn't imagine anything like that ever happening between Jon and herself. In fact the idea made her gag.

Arya tasted blood in her mouth and realized she'd broken the skin of her lip as she'd sat chewing it. Sansa lay staring up at the baldachin, the look on her face so heart-wrenching it made Arya swallow back a lump.  _No, I will never understand this._ But she did want all her family to be home, together, safe and happy. She sighed again. "You need to get some sleep, Sansa."

Her sister nodded and smiled. "For the babe."

Arya clenched her fists. "For the babe. And when you wake up we'll discuss my going South. I'll get him back for you," she whispered, mentally adding:  _for all of us, for Winterfell, for me._


	41. Chapter 41

Lord Manderly took a step forward as the accused were brought in. He bowed his head and addressed Sansa, who was sitting on the weirwood throne up on the dais, dressed in her wolf dress and furs, her crown pinned to her braids. "Your Grace. These men are brought before you to be judged for their crimes."

Sansa nodded at him. "These are Umber men, are they not?"

"They are," Manderly conceded, "but their crimes were committed on Karstark lands, so they were brought here, since Lady Karstark is still in Winterfell. But I'm afraid Lord Umber's envoy and the Karstarks couldn't agree on the right sentence, so it was decided to bring this case before the Crown, Your Grace."

Sansa looked down at the two dirty, dishevelled men who were kneeling a few feet away from the dais, their eyes nervously skitting around the Hall. "What are the charges, Lord Manderly?"

Manderly stretched out his arm, pointing his finger at the pair on the floor. "These men are accused of breaking the laws of hospitality, stealing, murdering two children and raping the mother."

Sansa frowned. "I don't understand, My Lord. The laws are clear about punishing thieves, rapists and murderers."

He placed his hands over his large belly and inclined his head. "It's- it's not that simple, Your Grace. The woman they assaulted, she... She's a Wildling."

She closed her eyes and sighed.  _I see._ She tilted her chin up and offered Lord Manderly a cold stare. "I don't see how that would make this case any different."

A low grumbling spread around the room. One of the accused cried out. "Why would ya care about them beasts, M'Lady? They don't even belong here!"

He glanced around before asking: "Where's the King? We was told we'd be judged by the King!"

Sansa held up a hand. "The King has many other duties. You will be judged by me, your Queen. The Free Folk are our people, any crimes you commit against them, are crimes against me and King Jon."

She could hear the dissatisfied tone in the murmurs now. She'd have to tread carefully. "I could take your right hand for stealing, I could have you gelded for raping that woman, I could have you hanged for murdering those children..."

The other man shook his head. "Please, M'Lady! We was cold and hungry, we was only looking for comfort! That bitch bit me ear off! Her wildling spawn stabbed Trent in the leg!"

Sansa's eyes fell on Tormund, who had to be restrained by his wife and some of her men. "Cause you fuckers turned on her after she offered to share the little food she had with ya! And ya dare call us beasts!"

He spat and shook off the people surrounding him, turning to stalk out of the Great Hall. Sansa gripped the armrests of her throne and pursed her lips, turning to the accused again. "You say the Free Folk don't belong here. I say no man, woman or child should be forced to remain North of the Wall. It is clear to me you don't understand that. Lord Commander Tollett has asked me for more men to take with him on a mission beyond the Wall. I will send you to Castle Black with the volunteers and other criminals, so you can see for yourself. If you survive and return, and show repentance for your crimes, I might allow you to take the Black."

"Please, not the Wall, M'Lady!"

"It's the Wall or losing your hand, your parts and being hanged. In that order. Unlike you did with that woman,  _I'm_ still offering you a choice. That's mercy, and it's more than you deserve, do you understand?"

Both men's eyes were still large with horror, but they nodded and allowed the guards to take them away. Sansa rose to her feet. "I'll be hearing no more petitions today, My Lords. I will see the rest of you tomorrow."

As the crowd was filing out of the Great Hall, Arya came barging up to her. They came face to face when Sansa had descended from the dais. "You can't mean that, can you?"

She saw Littlefinger trying to approach her as well. "Mean what?"

Arya was glaring at her, her arms crossed over her chest. Sansa tried to maintain a casual posture. Littlefinger had paused in the middle of the Hall and was eyeing Arya's angry stance. "You're just going to let them go? After what they did to that woman?"

"I'm not letting them go. It's not what I truly wanted to do, but I had no other choice. The situation with the Free Folk is still complicated."

Arya came closer, Sansa gripped her shoulder and turned to face Littlefinger. She smiled at him and mouthed the word "later". He raised his eyebrows and offered her a smirk before leaving the Hall. Arya didn't fail to notice their little exchange. "You should just kill them. And you should kill  _him_ too."

She groaned and threw up her hands, striding past her sister. "You think I don't know that? But this is politics, Arya. I can't get rid of him without any apparent cause. We can't afford to lose the support of the Vale."

Arya grabbed her by the arm and forced her to meet her eyes. "You killed Ramsay!"

She wrenched her arm free from her sister's grip and used her length to loom over her. "That was different!"

Arya narrowed her eyes in an icy glare. "How? Because it was you, Sansa? Because you're more important than everyone else?"

"That's not fair," Sansa shrieked, "you know it wasn't just about me!"

Her sister bit her lip. "Perhaps not... But, do you think Jon would agree with your decision?"

She blinked a couple of times to collect her thoughts. "Jon isn't here and he left me in charge. But as a matter of fact I think he would!"

Arya clenched her fists and pushed back her shoulders. "Don't pretend you know him better than I do!"

_That's what this is about?_ "How could you? You haven't seen him in years, we were children back then!"

Arya's lip was trembling. "It's never enough for you, is it? You need to have it all!"

Sansa shook her head in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Her sister retreated a few steps, looking at her feet. "When we were children, you had everything. You had your beauty, your skills, Mother's love, the Septa's approval... I was always Arya Horseface, Arya Underfoot. All I ever got was Mother's sighs, the Septa's scorn. But at least I had Jon. He was my brother and my friend..."

Sansa reached out, but Arya pulled back from her. "I don't understand. He still is. He loves you so much, he'll be so happy to see you again!"

Arya met her gaze. "Will he?"

"Of course! This... Us... It doesn't have to change what you and Jon have!"

She shook her head. "Doesn't it? You must be so pleased with yourself, Sansa, that you managed to take him from me as well!"

As she turned and stormed out of the Hall, Sansa called out her name in shock, but she didn't respond. Sansa closed her mouth and tried to swallow back her sobs, unable to contain her tears.  _Gods, it seems I'm just crying all the time these days. What's wrong with me?_ Ghost had come wandering in and was trotting up to her to press his enormous head against her body, curiously sniffing at her belly. She sank to her knees to hug him and card her hands into his fur. "Come, boy, let's go for a walk."


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Baelish tries to get his way with Sansa in this chapter.

Sansa sat down on the flat rock in front of the Heart Tree and watched Ghost circle around her, poking his nose into the snow here and there. He looked back at her one last time before leaving the clearing and wandering off into the Godswood. She pulled her cloak a little closer around her shoulders and sniffed. It was only an hour past midday and Sansa was already feeling exhausted. First she'd had to deal with those rapists, trying to find a balance between punishing them adequately and not angering her bannermen.

And then there had been her fight with Arya. It had been as if she was twelve again. She'd had no idea Arya had ever felt that way. It was Sansa herself who had always felt like the outsider among her siblings. Robb had preferred Jon and Theon's company, She'd never liked the wild games Bran and Arya liked to play and Rickon had been little more than a baby. All of her siblings had admired Robb, and Jon had been the one they'd all run to with their problems.

She'd also known that Bran had always been Mother's favourite. She suspected Father had always loved Arya the most. Sansa had always been so eager to please everyone, to be a true lady. She'd lived for those moments when she could make a smile appear on Father's face, when Mother had told her how beautiful she was, when Septa Mordane had complimented her needlework and other skills. She'd loved the way Jeyne Poole had looked up to her. She'd needed that constant confirmation back then.

It had never once occurred to her that Arya felt so insecure about being different. She knew she'd been mean to her, cruel even, but everyone else had liked Arya. Back then she'd scoffed her sister for being friends with stablehands and butcher's boys, yet she'd also been jealous of how easily Arya got along with all sorts of people.  _And now she thinks I'm happy to have stolen Jon from her?_ That didn't make sense. Arya could never feel that way about Jon, she'd said so herself, he would always be her brother.

What she and Jon had could never change anything about how he felt about Arya, because it couldn't possibly be more different. Sansa had run to him because he was family and she knew she could trust him as far as she could trust anyone back then. She'd thought he was her half-brother when she'd found him again and she'd called him brother. Still her feelings for him had changed so quickly, so easily, as if that was the way it was meant to be for them.  _Meant to be... If he still loves me, if he hasn't fallen in love with Daenerys by now._

She was startled from her thoughts by footsteps steadily approaching her. She didn't care to look up, because she feared she already knew who it was. "You do spend an awful lot of time in the Godswood for someone who has given up on praying, Sansa."

She sighed. She wasn't sure she could bring up the patience to deal with Littlefinger after the morning she'd had. "I come here to think and to be alone, Lord Baelish. Since I'm not alone anymore, I might as well leave."

He pressed his lips together. "You don't wish to see me?"

She got up and started walking away from him. "I don't wish to see anyone right now."

She could hear him chuckle behind her. "Ah, of course. You're upset about that little disagreement with your sister."

Sansa whirled around and demanded: "What do you want?"

Baelish smiled at her as he put a hand on her shoulder. "I came to warn you about her. I think she's a liability."

She rolled her eyes. "First it's Jon, now it's Arya. You don't seem to like any of my family, next you'll try to warn me against Bran too."

He held out his arms, palms up, before folding them behind his back as he came closer to her. "I don't know enough about him to tell if he'd be a danger, though his presence here might be detrimental to your power, yes. But as I said, it's your sister I'm worried about. That temper of hers... It's the wolf's blood as the Northerners say."

She took a few steps back, recoiling from his scent as it made her stomach turn. She should have eaten something after court. Littlefinger's words didn't make any sense, her Mother had always been the one with the temper, her Father had been the cool and collected one. She shrugged. "Or the Tully temper."

His eyes twinkled as he smirked. "Yes, the Tully temper," he agreed as he closed the distance between them again. Sansa glanced back to see he had almost cornered her against a tree. She straightened her shoulders. "So you've warned me. I thank you and I'll take your words into consideration. If you'll excuse me now, Lord Baelish."

He shook his head, still advancing. "Oh no, that little trick might work with your bannermen, but not with me, not anymore. There was something else I wished to talk to you about."

Sansa offered him a smile. "Do we need to talk about that right now? I'm tired."

He ignored her question. "Who is he?"

"What do you mean? I don't understand."

Her back was against the tree now, she couldn't retreat any further. "I've been asking around, keeping an eye out to see if any men have visited your rooms, but I can't seem to find out who your lover is. So I'm asking you: who is the father of your child?"

She almost wished she could tell him.  _I would love to see the look on your face._ She jutted out her chin. "I don't wish to share that information."

Baelish gripped her upper arms, staring her straight in the eyes. "You don't? That's not the only thing you don't wish to share with me, is it?"

He pressed the full length of his body against hers, rubbing his cheek against hers. Her heart started beating frantically and her throat locked down. She was completely frozen. She could feel his hot breath in her ear. "Who is he? Why did you let  _him_ into your bed and into your cunt, while all you ever give me is your cold kisses and your false smiles? What does he have that I don't?"

His lips were on her neck and she could feel him hard against her hip. "You're mine, Sansa. I've given you everything. Why won't you let me have you?"

He pressed himself even closer and part of Sansa's body started functioning again. As he lowered his hands to her hips, her nose filled with a gulp of his minty, perfumed scent. She could feel the bile rising in her throat. She managed to push him away, but it was too late. She retched out the contents of her stomach, vomiting all over the front of his cloak. As he recoiled in disgust, he was knocked down by a white blur. The next moment he was on his back, Ghost standing over him with his front paws on his shoulders and his teeth bared in a growl a mere inch from his face.

Sansa wiped her mouth with the back of her glove and smiled down at him. His voice came out in a strangled cry. "Call off that beast!"

"Perhaps," she purred.  _Or perhaps I should let him finish you right now. I'll tell you that Jon is the father of my child and I'll tell you all the reasons why I love him and why I'll never be able to love you. And then I'll order Ghost to rip out your throat._ She sighed. She couldn't do it, not yet. She still needed that gold from the Iron Bank and there was no one else who could arrange that deal for her.

"I want you to leave for Braavos, right now. If you come back with a good deal, I'll consider whether that's enough to repay your debt for what you tried today. I've told you time and time again, you need to be patient. I'll give you a fair warning. If you ever try to force yourself on me again, I will order Ghost to rip open your belly so you can watch yourself bleed to death. Do you understand?"

He swallowed and nodded weakly. Sansa flicked out a finger and Ghost snapped at his face. She smiled. Jon had taught her to use that little trick with the wolf. She whistled. "Come on, boy."

She left Baelish in the snow as she made her way out of the Godswood, Ghost trailing after her.


	43. Chapter 43

Arya wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them up and turning her head to rest her cheek against them. It had been two days since her fight with Sansa. She'd headed for the Godswood after she'd fled the Great Hall but she'd heard Sansa entering as well, so she'd decided to return inside. Since then she'd only left her room once to bring back some food from the kitchens. 

_Stupid, stupid,_ she thought. It was such an odd thing that being with Sansa sometimes made her feel as if the last five years had not happened at all. Being with her sister could turn her into Arya Underfoot again and it was as if all the other people she'd been and the different Arya she'd become existed no longer. Arya Underfoot had always believed she'd never be good enough, that no one would ever love her. She still did.

She recalled her first journey through the Riverlands with the Hound all those years ago, when she'd still hoped to be reunited with Mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon. Even then part of her had feared seeing them again, scared her family would reject her. There was one reunion she could look forward to that wouldn't be tainted by those insecurities. She remembered thinking:  _Jon will want me, even if no one else does._ Now she wasn't so certain anymore. If even Jon preferred a girl like Sansa, why would he still care about her?  _She's changed and so has he._ She wasn't jealous of Sansa, she didn't want Jon, not like that. She only felt betrayed, afraid there wouldn't be a place for her in his heart anymore.

She'd tried telling herself it was ridiculous, that it wasn't Sansa's fault. She knew Sansa wasn't that girl anymore, that she had suffered just as much as she had, perhaps even more. Sansa deserved to be loved by a good man like Jon. Arya knew Sansa's feelings must be real, as that babe had been conceived when she still thought Jon was her bastard brother, before she knew he was a Southron Prince. She sat up and shook her head to stop the mental images from taking shape inside her mind. And now Sansa must hate her.  _Perhaps she thinks I do want him for myself._

She knew she needed to talk to her sister, but she was dreading that conversation. She was afraid it would go the same way it had two days ago. She'd lose track of her thoughts, allow her emotions to take over and say things that came out all wrong, things she didn't mean. She leapt from the bed and walked over to the window, wondering whether she'd be able to scale the wall all the way down so she could reach the Godswood without risking to run into anyone in the halls. As she pushed the curtains open, she heard a knock on her door. She turned her attention back to the window. Sansa's voice drifted through the wood. "Arya?"

She ignored her, pretended she couldn't hear her. "Arya, I know you're in there. If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. But I do have some things I'd like to say and I'd prefer to tell you to your face, without a door between us! So you can either unlock it right now, or I'll have the Hound knock it down!"

Arya couldn't stop the smile from appearing on her face. She'd locked herself inside her room once when she was nine. She'd been angry with Mother, she couldn't even remember why. Lady Catelyn had come to her room and given her almost that exact same speech, but in that case it had been Hodor who was supposed to knock down the door. She opened it now to find Sansa standing there, chin up, eyes glittering and hands on her hips. The Hound was indeed standing next to her. Arya stared at her. "You sound like Mother."

Sansa entered the room, telling Clegane to wait outside before closing the door. She searched Arya's face for a few moments, before pulling her into her arms. The embrace reminded her of Mother as well, the way Sansa smelled, the relentless warmth of her arms. "I'm sorry, Sansa."

Sansa tucked Arya's head under her chin and started stroking her hair. "No," she said in a voice that sounded cool and steady on the surface, but had a fierceness burning underneath, " _I'm_ sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. You're smart and strong and beautiful, resourceful, passionate, you're an accomplished fighter, you've survived so much. Don't you ever think you're not good enough! You're my sister and I love you. Bran loves you. Jon loves you, so, so much. He has a big heart, there's room enough for both of us."

For the first time in perhaps years, Arya didn't try to fight back the tears. She let them flow freely as she sobbed into Sansa's shoulder. She didn't know how long they stood there like that. It could have been minutes or hours, but eventually her tears dried up and she pulled away to look at her sister. Sansa had a large wet stain on the shoulder of her gown. "I ruined your dress."

She shrugged. "It can be washed."

She offered her a handkerchief to dry her face and blow her nose. It was grey silk and Sansa had embroidered a white wolf and a red wolf chasing each other's tails into one corner. Arya scrunched her nose, but used it anyway. Finally she managed to meet her sister's eyes. "You don't hate me?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Of course not!"

Arya offered her a shy grin and Sansa beamed back at her, taking her hand so they could go and sit down on the bed.


	44. Chapter 44

Sansa hadn't let go of Arya's hand since they'd both sat down on the bed. They talked about everything and nothing until they were disturbed by a single knock on the door. Sansa sighed and squeezed Arya's hand, before they both got up to answer the door. It was Meera Reed, Lord Howland's daughter. She'd been the one to bring Bran home. She inclined her head. "Your Grace, Bran said I'd find you here. You need to come with me immediately, the both of you."

She threw a glance at the Hound. "He can come too."

"No, thank you, Frog Girl. I think I'll go find some ale and something to eat. You think they'll have chicken in the kitchens, Little Bird?"

Sansa rolled her eyes and frowned at Arya in confusion, her sister's face mirrored her own. She picked up her skirts and nodded. They followed Meera to Bran's room. Arya asked: "What's going on?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me, said I had to get you first."

When they entered the room, Bran was sitting in his chair, his head slumped back and his eyes completely white. Sansa had heard about this, but she'd never seen it before. Arya waved a hand in front of his face. "I thought he needed to be near a weirwood tree to do that?"

Meera kneeled down beside him to hold his hand and shook her head. "Not anymore. There's strong magic within the walls of Winterfell."

Bran's eyes rolled back into their normal position. "I can't see who it was... But the Maester will be here soon."

Sansa shook her head. "What do you mean, you can't see who it was?"

He sighed. "Too late to explain."

The words had hardly left his mouth, when a fist started banging loudly on the door. "Come in."

It was Maester Barth, who was holding a long cloth bundle in his right arm. "Your Grace, I'm glad I've found you here."

"Maester, what's the matter?"

He glanced around the room. Sansa nodded. "Those two men you convicted a couple of days ago, the ones who raped the Wildling woman, they've been killed in their cells, stabbed through the throat."

Sansa closed her eyes. She wasn't surprised.  _I should have sent them away immediately. Or perhaps executed them anyway, they did murder innocent children._ The Maester cleared his throat. "There's more, Your Grace. This was found lying next to them in a puddle of blood."

He started unwrapping the object in his arms, winding back rag after rag until he revealed a short and very skinny sword. Arya drew in a sharp breath and whispered: "Needle!"

Sansa blinked at her. "That's my sword, Sansa. Jon gave it to me, before we left for King's Landing," Arya explained, holding up her hands, "but it wasn't me, Sansa, I swear it wasn't me!"

Sansa turned to the Maester. "Thank you, Maester Barth. I want you to go back there and see if you can find more evidence on the bodies. Try to keep people away from there and try to have the bodies cleaned up and burned as soon as possible."

Sansa sat down on the bed and rubbed her temples, trying not to look at Arya who was left standing in the middle of the room. She waited until the Maester had left. "I know it wasn't you. I've been with you for at least the last hour or so. Besides, I had guards posted outside your door and under your window."

Arya's mouth fell open. Sansa shrugged. "I was afraid you might try to run away after our argument. You did do that once when you were eight."

Arya crossed her arms, but nodded. Meera glanced up at her. "But that means someone is trying to frame you!"

Sansa and Arya stared at each other and spoke together: "Littlefinger."

Sansa leaned back. "It's a little too obvious perhaps. It's sloppy, not his usual style. But I suppose he didn't have much time to leave instructions, so that makes sense."

"You sent him away?" Bran asked. Sansa nodded. "I did. He came to me in the Godswood, warning me that Arya was a liability. He also wanted to know who the father of my child was. And then he..."

Arya was gripping her arm. "And then he what?"

Sansa looked her in the eyes. "It doesn't matter, Ghost was there. Nothing happened."

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

"He tried, but I got sick, because of the babe and I- I puked all over him."

Bran chuckled. "You did what?"

Her brother and sister erupted into a fit of laughter. Meera raised her eyebrows and smiled. Sansa giggled. "I suppose I didn't really appreciate how funny that was at the moment."

Arya sighed. "It would be best if I left for a while, wouldn't it?"

Sansa nodded. "I'm afraid so. If it's him, he has probably paid someone to testify against you. A lot of people saw you disagree with my decision. You can't take Needle. It would look suspicious if I allowed you to take it."

"I understand. You can keep it to defend yourself. It was getting too small for me anyway. So that means you'll let me go South and get Jon?"

She wished there was another way. She wished she didn't have to let Arya go so soon. "Yes, by the time you return, I hope I'll have sorted matters out here."

Bran cleared his throat. "You'll still need a sword."

He exchanged a look with Meera, who went to retrieve a chest from under the bed. She pulled out a sword and presented it to Arya. Sansa could tell it was a longsword and she recognized the dark ripples in the blade. It was Valyrian steel. It was much larger and longer than Needle, but still quite slender. Even the hilt was smaller, as if shaped for a woman's hand. There was a single ruby in it, at least the size of a walnut. The pommel was shaped to look like a flaming torch.

Arya's eyes widened at the sight. She touched the sword carefully, almost reverently. "Where did you find this?"

"Meera took it to defend us when we had to flee from the wights in the Three-Eyed Raven's cave."

She nodded and handed the sword to Arya . "It's Valyrian steel, so it's really light, but very sharp. It could come in handy."

Arya huffed. "Are you sure you don't want to keep it?"

Meera shook her head. "I'm not that good with a sword."

Arya barked out a laugh. "You have no idea what this is, do you?"

Bran chuckled again as Meera shrugged. Sansa frowned, looking from one sibling to the other. Arya turned to her, exclaiming: "Sansa, this is Dark Sister, Visenya Targaryen's sword!"


	45. Chapter 45

Rhaegal touched the ground and roared, bending her head down so Jon could dismount. He slid down her neck until he was on his feet and patted her jaw. They'd just finished their daily flight over King's Landing. Being able to survey the condition inside the city walls from dragonback might prove to be an asset to their side. Besides, the effect on the city's population was not lost on him. He was hoping it might provoke Cersei Lannister into taking action or draw her out for negotiations. When they'd first arrived outside the city, Tyrion had sent his sister a message, inviting her to discuss terms of surrender, offering her a chance to solve matters in peace. Her only response had been to send back the messenger's head, all his teeth pulled out and his eyes gauged out of their sockets, a small note nailed to his forehead that said:  _"This was done while he was still alive. I wish it had been your head. Pity."_

So far Rhaegal's daily appearances hadn't resulted in any actions by the Lannister woman, except for a couple of days ago. Jon had risked flying over the Red Keep low enough to have a better look and they'd been bombarded with burning arrows. Rhaegal had evaded them easily and they'd stayed away from the castle after that. Jon wished he could do more than just sit around and wait. The Unsullied and the Dornish forces were disciplined enough, but the Dothraki were growing more agitated every day. They'd taken to fighting amongst themselves and several men had been killed or were still dying from festering wounds or the loss of an arm or leg. Missandei insisted it was little more than amusement to them, but it worried Jon nonetheless.

Tyrion had sent them away from the city walls to raid the towns and villages surrounding King's Landing, despite Jon's objections. While he understood the dwarf's reasoning that they needed to keep them busy, unleashing the khalassar on these innocent people didn't sit well with him. Jon sighed and turned to his dragon. "Thank you, sweet lady. See you tomorrow."

Rhaegal shrieked and took off, leaving Jon looking at her as she disappeared behind the horizon.  _I shouldn't be here._ Perhaps he should call her back. They could fly away together, go North. Rhaegal would love him challenging her to see how fast they could reach Winterfell.  _I can't, I promised._ If he kept us his end of the deal, Daenerys would be more lenient. He turned around and headed for the camp. When he reached the commanders' tents at the centre of the camp, Ser Davos approached him. He was accompanied by two Ironborn who were dragging along a silver-haired man by his bound hands. "Your Grace, the Ironborn caught this one just outside the port. He was trying to steal one of their ships."

Jon studied the man who was regarding him coolly, his chin held high. He was thin, with a narrow face covered by a short beard and had grey-green eyes. His silver hair fell to his shoulders and his clothes were simple but finely made. "Who are you?"

"I'm Aurane Waters. I was a member of Cersei Lannister's small council, but I decided to leave."

"He's the Velaryon bastard. They supported Stannis during the Blackwater. This one switched sides after the Lannisters captured him," Ser Davos explained.

Waters shrugged. "Staying loyal to Stannis would have killed me. Siding with the Lannisters has kept me alive. Until now."

Jon nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So you're hoping to switch sides again?"

Waters smirked at him. "Are you making an offer, Snow? I'm listening."

"Mind your tongue, boy, you're addressing-

"Yes, yes, the King in the North," Waters sighed, turning his head to Ser Davos, "and I know who he really is. I've seen him on that dragon. I suppose you'll want to know what  _I_ can offer you? Alright. Cersei Lannister still has a small fleet of her own. I convinced her to move it to Driftmark, suggesting it was close enough to Dragonstone for a surprise attack at the opportune moment. She doesn't realize I'm the one controlling those ships and their crews now. If I were to command them to sail all the way West and take Casterly Rock, they would do that."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "So you deceived the Lannister woman. Why should Queen Daenerys trust you?"

The other man shook his head. "They're not that different actually, trusting the Ironborn"- that remark earned him a smack across the back of his head from one of his captors- "thinking Wildfire and dragons can protect them. Daenerys doesn't even know Westeros. I still can't believe she thought it was a good idea to bring a horde of Dothraki screamers across the Narrow Sea... They're both fools, but you are not, are you?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning," Jon replied, frowning. Aurane Waters laughed. "Very clever of you, Your Grace, making people underestimate you, but there's no need for that here."

Jon shook his head. "You're mistaken, I'm not playing any games. And I'm not  _your_ King, you needn't address me that way."

Waters chuckled. "But you are. It was a very smart move, what you did up North... Marrying Sansa Stark, claiming the Northern crown for yourself... Why don't you do the same down here? Marry Daenerys Targaryen as well, take the Iron Throne and put her in her place? People will think you're Aegon the Conqueror reborn."

Jon stared at the man in bewilderment and glanced at Ser Davos, who tried to avert his eyes as he stood twirling his thumbs. How could this man know about him and Sansa? And why was he under the impression that they were married? He swallowed his questions and objections and decided to play along. He nodded, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him. "And why would you support me? What's in it for you?"

Waters smiled and jutted out his chin. "I'd like something in return for that support of course. I'll help you in exchange for Dragonstone... And that third dragon. You'll need someone with Valyrian blood to control it."

That was an awful lot to ask compared to what he had to offer. Jon shrugged and admitted: "That's a good point."

"Can I ask you a question, Your Grace? Does the Lady Sansa know who you really are? Or is it the thought of fucking her own brother that makes her wet?"

Waters' eyes widened in surprise as Jon's fist collided with his face. He could hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under his punch. "Take him away," he snapped at the Ironborn, before stalking away with Ser Davos in his tracks. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "Tell me, Ser Davos, what am I doing here?"

"You're doing what you think is right, Your Grace, as you always do."

He nodded. "Yes, and what has that brought me? I don't even know who I am anymore... I had finally accepted who I was. I was fine just being Jon Snow... And then they made me King in the North, which was bad enough. And now I'm supposed to be someone else again. That man told me I should be King of the Seven Kingdoms. That's ridiculous!"

Ser Davos smiled and grabbed his shoulder. "Perhaps you should."

Jon stared at him in horror. Had he lost his mind? "You can't mean that. I don't want the Iron Throne."

"Perhaps that's why it should be you. Stannis never wanted to be King either, but he knew it was his duty. Aurane Waters has a point about Daenerys, you know. I'm sure she has the best of intentions and what she's accomplished so far is impressive, but she is a greedy woman. She's too eager for it. And she  _is_ the Mad King's daughter."

Jon looked at his feet. "And what about me then, Ser Davos? I'm the son of two people who started a war because of something that was most likely nothing more than an infatuation."

Davos shook his head. "I have to disagree, Your Grace. You're Ned Stark's son. He may not have sired you, but he's the man who raised you, and it shows. I think you're still the same man. People in the North could see it too. They say he lives on in you. They also say the Lady Sansa is Lady Catelyn born again."

Jon glanced up to find Davos smiling at him with raised eyebrows. He swallowed. "What if- what if she doesn't want me anymore? What if she sends me away when she learns the truth?"

He shook his head and laughed. "She wanted you when she still thought you were her brother. She'll do no such thing!"

He slapped Jon on the shoulder before turning around and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 


	46. Chapter 46

Jon exchanged a puzzled look with Gendry. Tyrion had invited them along on this ride, keeping them in the dark about its purpose. His only explanation had been:  _"This siege is turning into a rather dull business. I think we could all use a little diversion."_

So now they found themselves in a village ten miles out of King's Landing, at the backdoor of what looked like an inn. Tyrion had taken a dozen Unsullied and Brienne had insisted on accompanying them as well, despite the dwarf's loud objections. He had just ordered her to stay outside with the rest of the guards. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him and rested her hand on the pommel of her sword. "Is this some kind of trap, Imp?"

Tyrion sighed and rolled his eyes. "If this was a trap, I'd invite you to come inside with us so you'd be less suspicious."

She held his gaze, clearly not entirely satisfied with his answer. Jon patted her on the arm. "It's alright, Brienne. You can stay here. I'll call out if I need your help."

She nodded and took a step back. Jon shook his head. Sansa had been right. Brienne was loyal to a fault, she followed her orders to keep him safe meticulously. She'd be more than able to protect him should the need arise. The door creaked open and they were ushered in by a woman in her forties with thick dark hair and heavy eyelids. They climbed the stairs to the first floor and were led through another door.

Jon looked around. The room they were in appeared to be an anteroom, sparsely furnished with only a couple of large wooden chairs, some stools and a small table holding a flagon of wine and some cups. Tyrion was already in one of the chairs, motioning to Jon to take the one beside him. Gendry sank down on one of the stools as the dark woman poured wine into the cups. Tyrion downed one of the cups and smacked his lips, urging them to drink as well.

Hesitantly Jon took his cup and sipped, seeing Gendry do the same. The woman had left the room after offering Tyrion a second cup of wine, which he had emptied before Jon had finished half of his first. The dwarf sighed and exclaimed: "This place is one of the best-kept secrets in the Seven Kingdoms! Don't worry about the costs, I'm buying tonight!"

Tyrion clapped his hands and the door swung open. A much younger woman entered the room and Jon's breath hitched as he realized what kind of place they'd been brought to. The girl was dressed in a completely translucent red wisp of a gown and the tips of her breasts were barely covered by the ends of her silvery blond hair. She twirled a lock around one finger as she approached him, smiling and swaying her hips. She lowered herself onto his knee, trailing a finger down his chest. Jon grabbed her wrist and pushed her away, stammering: "N-no, thank you. I'm erm, fine."

Tyrion chuckled. "You don't like that one? I didn't really expect you to," he said, waving the girl out of the room, "but I thought I'd try anyway. Daenerys likes to think she's special, one of a kind. And she is. But you can find at least one whore who is supposed to look like her in every brothel between the Sunset Sea and Meereen."

Two new girls came into the room, wearing nothing more than long white skirts. They pretended to ignore the men, exploring each other's bodies with their hands and mouths. Jon swallowed, putting his cup back on the table and held out his hands before they could come any closer. "I mean no offence, but I can't accept this."

Tyrion threw up his hands. "Come one, Jon Snow. You're not in the Night's Watch anymore. You're allowed to have a little fun!"

Jon balled his fists, shaking his head. "This is not my idea of fun."

The dwarf sighed, turning to Gendry, who was eyeing the prettiest of the two, a small brunette with large blue eyes. "You don't seem to have any objections. Bedroom's through that door."

The whore took Gendry's hand, pulling him to his feet and leading him through the door Tyrion had indicated. The dwarf himself patted his knee, inviting the other girl, a dark-eyed girl with curls the colour of honey, to sit on his lap. He squeezed her teats before turning to Jon again. "Still the honourable would-be Stark, aren't you? You're a man, you have needs... What's holding you back? "

Jon clenched his jaw, unable to answer, trying to ignore the low moans coming from the other room.. What was holding him back was simple and obvious, but he couldn't exactly share that with the Imp. Of course he had needs, but Sansa was the only woman he wanted. He had no desire to bed any other girl, even if she was only a whore. 

"You're not a virgin, are you, Jon Snow? Perhaps you're one of those men with specific tastes? How about something more exotic?"

As he snapped his fingers, a dark-skinned woman appeared. She had huge black eyes and her hair was cropped short. She was naked as her name day, except for the golden paint on her nipples. Jon jumped to his feet. "I really do appreciate your offer, Lord Tyrion, but I have no need for your diversions."

"Are you sure about that?"

The dwarf narrowed his eyes at him as he motioned for the whore to leave the room. "Aye, I am."

Jon whirled around and came to a sudden stop as he heard himself gasp. A new girl had entered the room, dressed in a gown similar to that of the first one, but hers was a deep blue, bringing out the colour of her eyes. She took a step forward, coming closer to him. He shook his head, he was being ridiculous. She didn't even look like her, not really. It was just that her hair was the exact right shade of red and that she bit her lip just so.

He tore his gaze away from her to scowl at Tyrion. The other whore was no longer in his lap. He was leaning back, studying Jon with raised eyebrows and a smug smile on his lips. "Specific taste, huh? Very specific taste..."

Jon's mouth fell open and a strangled noise left his throat. He turned back to the girl to push her aside and stalked out of the room, thundering down the stairs. He startled Brienne by throwing open the backdoor. "Your Grace!"

"We're leaving!"

Her eyes travelled from his face to the open door. "What happened in there?"

"Nothing," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the mix of worry and curiosity on her face, "Lord Tyrion assumed... This is a brothel, Brienne. He thought I'd like to..."

Brienne's face flushed a bright red, probably mirroring his own. The evening's events had left him embarassed and fuming. The Imp had tricked him. He knew he hadn't misread that knowing look on his face. As Jon mounted his horse, he wondered what Tyrion Lannister was planning to do with this new knowledge.


	47. Chapter 47

Tyrion looked up from the scrolls and maps piled on the table in front of him to see Jon Snow entering his tent. He didn't greet him and didn't say anything else, he simply tossed a letter on top of the pile and sat down, frowning. Tyrion wondered if he was still upset over that little trick he'd played on him at the brothel. He'd meant no harm by doing that, he'd simply wanted to confirm his suspicions. He had, but it had also raised more questions. Tyrion sighed and focused on the letter.

_Cersei of House Lannister, First of her Name, Queen of the First Men, the Andals and the Rhoynar, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm wishes to speak to Jon Snow, the commander of the Targaryen invaders. We shall meet tomorrow at midday on the tourney grounds outside the King's Gate. You are allowed to bring three companions of your own choosing._

_The King's Gate._  He was surprised Cersei would choose to leave the city's protection, instead of asking them to come to her inside the walls of King's Landing. She must be fearing they'd deceive her if they were allowed inside. The King's Gate had a sally port. She probably considered that a safe way for her to get in and out of the city. Moreover she was requesting to speak to Jon Snow specifically, without even mentioning Tyrion. She was up to something, he could feel it. He put the letter down and met Jon Snow's glare. "You should go."

Tyrion fiddled with some of the scrolls. "Oh and I will be going, but so are you."

"No."

"Her letter is clear. She wants to speak to you."

Snow pushed himself up, leaning down on the table. "I'm sure she wants a great many things. Why should I care about any of them?"

Tyrion rose as well, staring at him intently. "Don't you see? This is our chance! If she doesn't see you there, she might decide to turn back and never talk to us again."

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Haven't I done enough for you? You keep asking me to do you favours, meet conditions, come up with battle plans... Yet all you people have done since I've come South is try to use me and play your games with me! I think I've had enough."

Somewhere high above the camp, Rhaegal roared angrily. None of that raging fire was apparent in Jon Snow though, he was ice again. Tyrion leaned over the table as well, holding out a hand. "I know you're not familiar with the politics of the South. You want to go home... To her. I understand that."

He pulled back. "You don't."

He threw up his hands. The man was unbelievable. "Perhaps not. But you know Daenerys wouldn't be pleased if you decide to leave now. You still need her help. She's a dangerous woman to cross."

Snow raised his eyebrows. "Are you threatening me, my lord? Perhaps I don't need her at all. One dragon might be enough. I'm not afraid of her."

_It would appear you are not._ Tyrion hoped he didn't mean that, if he decided to take off now, it might come to a new dance of the dragons. Jon Snow put a hand on the table again, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Perhaps I should go talk to your sister alone. I hear she has Wildfire. That might actually be more effective than two more dragons and more manpower."

Tyrion's mouth fell open. "You can't seriously be considering that. After what she did to..."

He didn't finish his sentence. He only watched as the hard glare in Jon's eyes changed into something broken. "No," he whispered, "but I almost wish I could."

"We will help you. But Daenerys will only go North after she's taken King's Landing. You know that."

He nodded.

* * *

 

The next day Tyrion, Jon and Brienne met Cersei outside the King's Gate. She was accompanied by her Queen's Guard and what must be half of the City Watch. Tyrion studied her face as they approached. She looked different without her long golden tresses. She had dark circles under her eyes and her skin looked sallow and blotchy. When she smiled, she no longer looked like the Light of the West as they'd once called her. Instead it reminded him of Joffrey.

"Jon Snow," she purred, "I gave you permission to bring three companions. You only brought one. And a half."

Snow only smiled back and pointed up to the sky. "My third companion prefers to stay up there."

Something flickered in Cersei's eyes when she caught sight of Rhaegal circling high above them. She offered them that unpleasant smile again. "Lady Brienne, I must say I'm disappointed to see you here. I seem to remember you were very fond of my brother. Have you forsaken him?"

Brienne ignored her. "And you Tyrion, I didn't expect you'd dare to show your face here. I could have my men kill you before that beast can stop them."

Tyrion inclined his head. "I suppose you could, sweet sister, but what would you gain by doing that? Let's get to the point. You can't win, Cersei, it would be best for you and the rest of King's Landing if you surrendered now."

Jon Snow added: "Queen Daenerys has taken most of her army and her other two dragons to the Reach to deal with your brother and his army. You stand alone."

Cersei smirked and folded her hands. "Queen Daenerys... She's your aunt, right? And you're Rhaegar's son? You don't look anything like him. You must have her look. I can't remember, I only saw her once. Lyanna Stark. Gods, how I hated that woman. And now you come barging in, thinking you can take everything from me. I can't say I'm happy about that."

Tyrion peered at her. He knew this was not Cersei's version of smalltalk. She was getting somewhere, but he couldn't tell where that was yet. Jon Snow didn't respond. "No," Cersei mused, "I suppose Stark women just don't agree with me."

Jon Snow narrowed his eyes. _Careful now._ Did Cersei know more than he did? He glanced up at Rhaegal, hoping Snow's control was as good as it seemed to be. "I had such a wonderful plan for your sister-wife. That little fool I smuggled into Winterfell believed every little tale Qyburn spun about Sansa Stark. She was so very eager to do anything he asked from her."

Snow clenched his fists as his entire body tensed. Cersei offered him her sweetest smile. "I wanted her to suffer, but someone found out. Pity. But I suppose I'll get my way. Perhaps Lord Baelish will finally deliver what he's promised."

She took in the look on Snow's face. "Oh, yes, Baelish is still my man. Always has been."

To Tyrion's surprise, he smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid you've been deceived."

Cersei frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You think Sansa and Tyrion killed your beloved Joffrey. You're wrong. It was Baelish. Him and the Tyrells."

Tyrion's head jerked back to Cersei. She must have known about the Tyrells, but the news about Baelish clearly took her by surprise. She collected herself quickly enough though. "Hmm, you're right, I didn't know that. Let me return the favour. Is Lord Baelish still up there with your beloved Sansa? I suppose he is. Does she know it was him who betrayed your Lord Father? Who made him believe he was on his side and then betrayed him, delivered him to us?"

_No! No! No!_ Tyrion watched as half a dozen emotions flickered over Jon Snow's face. He heard the dragon before he saw her. Flames erupted from her jaws as she soared over the men of the City Watch. Within seconds more than half of them were on fire. Piercing screams and the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

"Rhaegal!"

The dragon continued down, landing right in front of Jon Snow, who stared down at him. "I've been wasting my time here. I'm done."

Tyrion shook his head. "Please, don't do this!"

Snow turned to Brienne. "Find Ser Davos and get away from here!"

She stammered: "B-but Your Grace. I'm supposed to protect you!"

"Don't worry about me," he shouted as he climbed onto Rhaegal's back, "I'm going home!"

Brienne nodded and turned around. As soon as the dragon took off, Tyrion heard Cersei scream: "Seize them!"

He couldn't run, he couldn't fight. He watched as his feet were lifted from the ground. Brienne had managed to fight off her pursuers and was running for the camp. As Tyrion's captor turned around, he saw flames rising from the south-eastern part of the city. Cersei was screaming.  _The Red Keep,_ he realized in shock,  _the Red Keep is on fire._


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to write a couple of chapters taking place in the Reach, one Dany POV and one Jaime, but I decided it would be better to include those at a later point in the story.
> 
> So yes, that means this is it! The moment you've all been waiting for... The reunion! Enjoy!

"So you two killed those men and tried to frame my sister?" 

Sansa studied the two lads who'd been identified by Bran as the killers. One was small and had the face of a fox, the other was stout with a red face and a big round belly. The smaller boy shrugged. "Lord Baelish promised we'd get our revenge if we spied on you and your bastard brother."

"But then you sent him away," the big one added, "so we decided to do it ourselves."

Sansa frowned at Lord Manderly, who was sitting next to her at the table in the small council chamber. He turned to the lads. "Who are you?"

"I'm Big Walder," the little one declared, "and this is my cousin, Little Walder."

"Freys."

"Yes," Little Walder said, "we know it was your sister who killed our Lord Grandfather."

"It's not as if we really mind. The more Freys die, the better for us. I want to be Lord of the Crossing some day. But we still felt obligated to avenge our family. We have to defend our name."

Sansa rolled her eyes.  _As if the name Frey is still worth anything these days._ "How did you get in?" Lord Manderly asked.

"We were already here when you first came back," Little Walder sniggered at Sansa, "but Ramsay said we couldn't let you see us. It was supposed to be a surprise."

She wondered whether the big lad was feebleminded. Knowing Ramsay's surprises, she suspected it couldn't have ended well for the Frey boys. " Big Walder grinned. "When you came back with the bastard, we pretended to be stableboys."

Sansa exchanged a look with Lord Manderly. This was the second time members of her staff turned out to be traitors. That issue needed to be addressed as soon as possible. "Are you going to kill us?"

She sat up and pushed her shoulders back, looking from one Frey to the other. She saw a flicker of fear in Little Walder's eyes, but Big Walder just stared back calmly, not a sign of emotion on his face. A chill ran down her spine. Finally she said: "Not yet. You might still be of some use to me. Let's hope for your sakes the current Lord of the Crossing cares more about you than you do about him."

Sansa nodded to the guards to lead the lads back to their cells. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. So it turned out Baelish had been involved in some way after all. Another crime to be added to the long list. He would be gone for a while, now was the time to act. She was planning to reveal the truth about Lysa Arryn's death to Lord Yohn Royce, so he could travel back to the Vale to inform Lord Robert. She'd learned a couple of days ago that her Aunt Lysa's murder hadn't even been the worst of Littlefinger's deeds.

They had decided that the Hound would accompany Arya back South. He'd come to her in her private chambers, a couple of hours before their departure.  _"It seems I'm leaving you again, Little Bird,"_ he'd said, " _but this time, I won't ask you for a song. Dogs can sing too, you know. I happen to know a song about a Mockingbird you might find interesting."_

His song had been more than interesting. It had contained the information she needed to turn the entire North against Littlefinger, to leave no doubt as to what kind of man he was. The news had come as a shock, but the longer she thought about it, the less it surprised her. The fact that it had been Littlefinger who had betrayed her Father to Cersei and Joffrey made perfect sense. It only meant one thing to her. As soon as he came back, he was dead. But she still had to handle this with caution.

She was startled from her thoughts when the door flew open with a bang. One of the guards from the outer walls burst through the open door. "Apologies, Your Grace! There- there... You should come immediately! We saw... Something is coming in our direction and it's approaching quickly."

Lord Manderly pushed himself to his feet. "Calm down, young man! What do you mean, something is coming?"

The guard swallowed. "We think it's a dragon!"

Sansa was glad she was still in her chair, for if she had been on her feet, her knees would have buckled.  _A dragon._ Why would Daenerys Targaryen fly a dragon all the way up to Winterfell?  _Something is wrong! Jon!_ If something had happened to him, Sansa wasn't sure she would survive the news.  _No! You can't think like that._ She shouldn't speculate and let her fears get the better of her. She'd find out the reason for the Dragon Queen's unexpected visit soon enough.

"Lord Manderly, I'll go out there to meet her, so she has no reason to bring that dragon inside our walls."

He nodded. "I'll come with you, Your Grace. How many men are you planning to take?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord. I'll go alone. I won't risk anyone else coming near that beast."

"Your Grace! What about your own safety?"

Sansa sighed. "No one can protect me from a dragon, I'm afraid. Bran has given up his rights to the Northern throne. If anything were to happen to me and King Jon does not return, I want my sister to succeed me as Queen in the North."

Manderly stared at her for a moment before inclining his head. Sansa rose to her feet and made her way down the halls into the courtyard. As she marched out of the gates, she smoothed back her hair and straightened her shoulders.  _I am the North, I am Winterfell. This is my home and you can't frighten me._

Slowly but steadily Sansa walked to the hill where she'd seen the dragon land. As she came closer to its base, she wondered whether she should wait for the Dragon Queen to come down or climb the hill herself. She decided to wait. She watched in awe as the dragon took to the skies again, leaving a lone person standing on the crown of the hill. Sansa tried to shield her eyes from the evening sun so she could take a better look at the figure who had started to descend the hill, but the rays of sunlight surrounding it turned it into a shadow.

She recognized him the moment the setting sun was obscured by a large cloud. The wind had swept his hair into a mess of tangled curls and his beard was longer and shaggier than she'd ever seen it, but it was him.Her heart leapt up and then stopped beating altogether before breaking into a frantic rush inside her chest. Sansa stood petrified, blinking in disbelief, but Jon was sprinting down the hill.

When they were only inches apart he stopped and they stared into each other's eyes, lips parted and hands half-lifted, reaching for the other, and then she was in his arms. They clung to each other so tightly it should have hurt, but all she could think about was holding him even closer. She felt as if her body would melt into a puddle as all the tension she hadn't been aware of flowed out of her. 

As she nuzzled her face into his neck, breathing him in, he kissed her hair and whispered in a rough voice. "I'm sorry, Sansa, I never should have left you."

"I never should have let you go, Jon," she sobbed. She pulled back to look at him. "But you're back? You're here to stay?"

He released her to take one of her hands in his and peeled off her glove. He kissed her palm and held her hand to his cheek, leaning into her touch. "I'm here to stay, if you'll still have me."

She frowned at the sad look in his eyes and shook her head. "Of course I will. Why would you think I wouldn't? What happened?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "I found out... I learned the truth about... I'm not who you think I am, Sansa."

He was still refusing to look her in the eye. She bit her lip, puzzled by his vague explanation, but then it clicked.  _The dragon._ He'd found out as well. She caressed his face, lifting his chin to catch his gaze. "I know, Jon, but it doesn't matter, you're still the man I love."

He glanced up at her, lips parted in surprise. "You know? How?"

She pressed their foreheads together, brushing her nose over his. "It's a long story, I'll tell you about it later."

She grabbed the front of his jerkin with both hands and crushed their mouths together. As his lips moved against hers, he cupped the sides of her head, stroking her hair. The feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the roughness of his beard, his gentle touch were all so much better than any memory she'd relied on for the last few months. When they finally broke apart, Sansa felt dizzy.

Jon's brow furrowed. "Where is he? Littlefinger?"

"He's not here. I sent him away. Why?"

He shook his head. "It's a long story. I can't remember when I last slept."

"Let's get you inside then," she sighed as she took his arm to lead him back to the castle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let Jon sleep for a while before Sansa tells him the big news ;)


	49. Chapter 49

"Is this a dream?"

Sansa didn't answer. She leaned over him, the curtain of her fiery hair hiding their faces, and he felt her lips pull into a smile as she brushed them against his.  _No, It's definitely not._ This was better than any dream his mind could conjure up. He responded eagerly, holding her hands, which she had braced on his shoulders. She pulled away too quickly. "I've brought you some food. You must be hungry."

His stomach growled in affirmation at the sight of the tray she'd put down beside them on the bed. He chuckled as he sat up, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. The sky was dark outside his window. "How long have I have been asleep?"

"The sun set a few hours ago. But the days are growing shorter."

"I've slept for an entire day?"

She nodded. After she'd brought him back to his chambers the night before, he'd been too tired to eat or find sleep immediately. She'd stayed with him as he lay soaking his sore muscles in a hot bath and part of him had been tempted to pull her in on top of him, but his body had been too exhausted. Jon tried to focus on the food, but he ate slowly, unable to pull his eyes away from her face for too long as she sat across from him, nibbling at a piece of bread or cheese.

There was so much he needed to tell her, he had so many questions for her, but all of it could wait. He didn't want to ruin this moment. It was just the two of them, sitting together in content silence, closed off from the rest of the world for at least a few more hours. From time to time he caught himself grinning like an idiot, but to his delight she beamed back at him every time.

When he'd eaten enough he leaned back against the pillows and watched her. She was wearing that deep blue robe he liked. He'd never seen her eat so much in one sitting. When she dipped a finger into the butter and licked it, a moan escaping from her throat, it sent a jolt through his groin. At the same time he couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled up in his chest at the uncharacteristic sight. She froze with her finger still between her lips and looked at him with startled eyes. "What?"

"You're eating."

"I have been known to do that, Jon."

"Truly?"

She rolled her eyes in response. "You were licking butter from your fingers, Sansa."

A crease appeared between her eyebrows and she bit her lip. "I've developed a curious preference for butter over the last few weeks," she informed him in a clipped voice as she slid off the bed to put the tray on a sidetable. He frowned at her as she climbed back on. He could sense her unease, but was unable to detect any cause for it. 

When she lifted her skirts to straddle his thighs, he was more than half-hard for her in an instant, but he couldn't ignore the tense look on her face. She sat playing with the lacings on his tunic, still biting her lip. He wondered whether he should encourage her to continue. Eventually she sighed. "I need to tell you something, but I'm afraid you might be angry with me."

He swallowed a lump that had materialized in his throat with her last words.  _This is it,_ he thought,  _she's going to tell me she's changed her mind about us._ What she'd said last night must have been a dream, or maybe she'd say it had been a mistake, that she'd been confused. Still he couldn't bear to see the distress on her face, so he reached out to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch and a spark of hope was reignited in his chest.

She licked her lips and worried her tongue over her teeth. Suddenly she was untying her bedrobe, pushing it off her shoulders. He pulled back to enjoy the sight. When the robe had fallen down onto his knees, she started bunching up her nightrail, all the way up to her breasts. The puzzled look must be etched onto his face by now. As he glanced down at her belly, his lips parted in surprise. He wasn't imagining this, was he? The change was small, hardly perceptible, but unmistakenly there. A small bump was sticking out from the cradle of her hipbones. His eyes flew to her face. Hers were closed. "What..."

She opened her eyes and met his questioning gaze. "I'm with child, Jon."

As he lowered his eyes, he reached out slowly, hesitantly, to put his hands on her belly. His mouth was still half-open when he met her eyes again. He should be ashamed of himself, he should be furious for what he'd done to her. He'd been so afraid this would happen, yet he'd done nothing to prevent it. But he'd been denying himself so much for all his life and this was everything he'd ever wanted. He was home, with Sansa, who was going to have his babe. _Our babe._

He grabbed her face and peppered it with kisses as he kept whispering her name. "Sansa, oh Sansa. I'm not angry. Of course I'm not angry."

"You're not?"

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, shaking his head as his nose skimmed the line of her neck. He put his lips to the shell of her ear to whisper: "No, I'm happy. You can't believe how happy I am."

She draped her arms around his neck, laughing and pressing kisses to his temple. Before he could think he opened his mouth and words started pouring out. "I know this is probably not the way you wanted this, but I promise you can have all of that later. All of it, a grand feast, music and singers and dancing, a pretty dress, presents, a hundred guests, a thousand if you like! I swear I wanted to do this differently, but I can't wait any longer, I just can't!"

She giggled. "You're not making any sense, Jon!"

He framed her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones. He kissed the tip of her nose. "I want to make you mine."

Her arms tightened around his neck. "I  _am_ yours, always have been."

"You don't understand."

She shook her head. "No. What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to ask is," he said in a voice he hardly recognized as his own, holding her gaze, "Sansa, come with me to the Godswood and marry me, right now."

Her answer came almost immediately, only delayed for a moment by her mouth falling open and her eyes growing wide. "Yes, Jon, a thousand times yes!"

She lunged forward to kiss him with so much force he crashed back against the pillows. She attacked his lips and fisted her hands into his tunic. As she moaned into his mouth, she shifted her hips. The friction and the hotness of her core made him hard in an instant as her warmth and scent enveloped him and all thoughts of leaving his bed were gone.  _I suppose I can wait another hour or two._


	50. Chapter 50

Jon sat up to kiss Sansa back and slipped his hands under her nightrail to pull it over her head. He felt her tugging at his tunic and released her to help. For a few moments he just held her to him to enjoy the feel of her naked skin against his. He kissed her neck and pulled back to look at her. His dreams and memories hadn't done her beauty any justice. His eyes lingered on her larger breasts and darkened nipples. Eager to inspect the change, he cupped them in his hands and squeezed lightly. Sansa gasped and slapped his hands away. "Ow! That hurt!"

"I'm sorry!"

She shook her head. "They're too tender. You'd better not touch me there."

She laughed at the disappointed look on his face and lowered him back against the pillows, kissing his lips and his neck, as his hands slid down to rest on her arse cheeks. He kneaded them, allowing his fingers to skim lower, until he could brush one over her folds through the barrier of her damp smallclothes. His cock twitched. Her movements stilled and she mewled against his ear. "Tender as well?"

"Yes, but good," she breathed. He chuckled and helped her get rid of her last piece of clothing. When her hands flew to his own smallclothes, he caught her wrists and pushed them away, growling: "Come here."

He pulled her up by the hips until she was straddling his face and hooked his arms under her legs. The smell and heat of her were overwhelming. He groaned and flicked out his tongue to lick up her slit, lapping up the sweet tang of her arousal. She bucked her hips, whimpering. He was tempted to tease her, to make her beg for it, but as his throbbing cock reminded him that now was not the time for patience, he decided to go straight for her nub, closing his lips around it and digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips. She squeezed her thighs shut and cried out as he started sucking. He allowed himself a moan, drawing more soft whimpers from her lips. He hummed against her, knowing what the vibrations of it did to her.

When his tongue joined his lips, she started riding his face in earnest, all her little cries and deep moans shooting straight to his groin. Her juices were dripping down into his beard. He alternated between drawing fast circles over her clit and stabbing at it with the tip of his tongue, increasing the pressure. He grabbed her faltering hips, certain his fingers would leave bruises on her milky skin. Despite a small pang of guilt, the thought of marking her excited him. "Mine," he groaned against her cunt. She was close now, so close and his cock was straining against the confines of his smallclothes.

When she peaked with a loud cry, soaking his face and beard, he dipped his tongue lower and into her, drinking up everything she offered him. He might have pushed it flat against her then to help her come down, but he was too eager for her. He pulled her off his face to move her down to his hips, but she rolled off him, tumbling back onto the bed in a heap of weak limbs. He pushed down his smallclothes and hovered over her, brushing her flushed cheek with his thumb. "Sansa?"

"Please, Jon, I need you inside me!"

He let out a growl and parted her legs. He aligned himself with her entrance and pushed in slowly, bracing his hands beside her head and closing his eyes. Her wet heat gripped his cock tightly, still rippling with the last waves of her release. When he was fully seated inside her, he had to bury his face in her neck to keep himself from losing control immediately.  _Finally home._ She felt impossibly good. He was startled by her loud gasp. His head jerked up to look at her face, where tears were spilling from her blue eyes. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No," she whispered, "I've just missed you so much. This is where you belong."

He kissed her lips and her cheek, moving down to her neck again.  _Yes, this is where I belong._ When he started moving inside her, she wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his lower back and fisting her hands into the furs. He lowered his mouth to her collarbone, sucking a dark bloom onto her creamy skin, half wondering at his strange urge to claim her like this. His arms were straining to keep his weight off her and he was struggling to keep his pace slow and steady. It had been too long and he was already too close. As Sansa's moans grew louder, she curled one hand into his hair and gripped his shoulder with the other, digging her nails into his flesh.

He was thrusting harder and faster now. He wanted to see her face, but the thought alone already made him falter, so he clenched his teeth to resist the urge. When her walls clenched around his cock and she cried out his name, he couldn't hold back any longer. He pounded into her, losing his rhythm completely, and let his release take him. The roar that came from his mouth didn't sound like anything human. He collapsed onto his side, pulling her with him. "I'm never leaving this room," he grunted, "I want to stay inside you forever."

She giggled and panted out: "Good. I'd like that."

Jon chuckled in response and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair. He peppered her face with kisses as she snuggled closer and he slipped out of her. She stretched her neck, exposing her white throat and he moved his face down to brush his nose over it. He kissed his way down between her breasts, as his fingers trailed patterns across the marked skin of her back. When his eyes had come level with her belly, he pressed his cheek against it, murmuring a greeting and some endearments to the little bump. "I love you," he whispered, "the both of you."

He looked up to find Sansa gazing down at him. "I love you, too."

It occurred to him they'd never said those words to each other before. There was no need for it, not really. They'd expressed their love in other ways, perhaps even more deeply. He moved back up to pull her in for a kiss. He couldn't believe he'd been doubting her only such a short time ago. All of his qualms were gone now. They loved each other, they'd be husband and wife soon, and they were going to have a baby together. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

He noticed her short hesitation and added: "It doesn't matter! I'm just curious."

She smiled. "I think it's a boy."

He smoothed back her hair and grinned.  _A son._ They could call him Robb and he'd be the next Lord of Winterfell, as their brother had been supposed to become. He shook his head, not willing to linger on all of that grief and guilt now and cleared his throat. "We should get dressed."

She pushed him back against the furs and straddled his hips. He blinked slowly as she looked down at him with dark and intense eyes. "No, we shouldn't."

"We can't go to the Godswood like this."

She closed her hand around his cock and started stroking him into hardness. "We're not going to the Godswood."

He swallowed and grabbed the furs. "What- what about our wedding?"

She shifted her hips forward and sank down on him, taking in his full length. He gasped as his upper body arched off the bed. She leaned forward and grabbed his face to press their foreheads together. "Later. I'm not finished with you yet."

 


	51. Chapter 51

After drifting in and out of sleep in each other's arms for a while, Sansa and Jon had risen from the bed, fully intending to get dressed and head outside. Yet at some point Jon had lifted her up onto the table and taken her again. After that they'd found themselves on the furs in front of the fire, embracing one another and kissing lazily until she'd climbed into his lap and he'd ended up inside her one last time.

Sansa was lying with her back pressed to Jon's chest, facing the flames. He was covering her neck and shoulders with soft kisses, caressing her hip with his hand. "If you keep doing that, we'll never make it to the Godswood!"

He barked out a laugh that vibrated through her entire body. "You're insatiable, Sansa!"

"It's all your fault!"

His lips brushed the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Is it?"

"Jon!"

He tittered as he rubbed her arse and scurried to his feet, holding out a hand to help her up. He had to steady her with the other when she almost stumbled into him. She was a bit sore, but at the same time it felt as if her joints had turned liquid. She decided she liked the sensation. She took the washing cloth he offered her to clean herself up a little and watched him put on his clothes as she brushed her hair.

She would never forget the look on his face when she'd told him she was expecting his child. Jon didn't smile that much and Sansa had come to love his pouty frowns, but she absolutely adored it when a smile did light up his face. When she'd shown him her small bump, his expression had changed from shock to awe to pure joy. It was the most wonderful sight she'd ever witnessed. She hadn't expected to be able to love him more than she already had, but since that moment she did.

When Jon had helped her into her dress, he kissed her hair and chuckled. She turned to give him a questioning look. He shook his head. "We're doing it all wrong, you know."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The wedding usually comes first... And after the groom helps his bride out of her dress, instead of the other way around. And the bedding is supposed to come last."

She smirked and raised her eyebrows at him. "I guess we've never been a traditional pair, now have we?"

He kissed her forehead and took her hand to lead her out of the Lord's chamber. "I guess not."

It was well past midnight and the hallways were deserted. Out in the courtyard they ran into Ghost, who greeted Sansa cheerfully, but hardly even acknowledged Jon's presence. When the wolf wandered off, Jon called for him, but he chose to ignore his master. Sansa squeezed his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder. He shook his head and shrugged. They continued their walk. 

When they entered the Godswood, Sansa realized her heart was racing in her chest. She felt a little lightheaded.  _I feel like a girl again. I could swear I have butterflies in my stomach._ Jon kissed her cheek and left her at the edge of the clearing around the heart tree to take his place there. She clasped her hands together, trying to block out any memories of her previous wedding here. She'd sworn to herself she'd never wed again and the idea of marriage still felt a little daunting. They hadn't even taken the time to think this over or discuss the consequences. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and looked up.

She saw Jon standing under the heart tree, waiting for her, illuminated by the full moon and its light reflecting off the fresh snow and all her worries faded away.  _It's Jon,_ she told herself. Jon, who had always loved her, even back when she'd never done anything to deserve that love. Her brother, perhaps not in the traditional sense of the word, but calling him her cousin somehow felt too distant. It couldn't even begin to cover the bond they shared. Her King, the only man she'd ever surrender to. Her lover, who had made her whole again.

Jon's voice was steady, but perhaps a little rougher than usual when he asked: "Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?"

She took a few steps forward. "Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Me," he answered. He seemed to hesitate for a while, but then simply said: "Jon Snow. I claim her. Who gives her?"

 _Yes, Jon Snow, my Jon Snow._ The girl she had been would have squealed at the revelation that Jon was secretly a prince. The woman she'd become couldn't care less. All that mattered was that it meant they could be together. "I give myself."

Jon swallowed. "Will you take me, Sansa Stark?"

She beamed at him. "I take you, Jon Snow."

She had to bite her lip to keep herself from running to him, taking deliberately slow steps as she closed the distance between them. She laid her hand in his and they knelt in the snow. She probably hadn't prayed since she'd left King's Landing, but perhaps now was not a bad time to start again.  _I don't know which god or gods or whoever or whatever you are has given me this wonderful man, but please understand that I'm smart enough now to know he's everything I need and everything I should have wanted all along. Please, keep him safe and allow me to keep him by my side. Please, bless our marriage with strong and healthy children and keep the rest of our family safe._

There was no exchanging of cloaks, she wasn't even wearing a special gown. There would be no feast, no dancing, no lemon cakes. There were no guests to witness the ceremony or congratulate them. Her husband was not the tall golden prince dressed in silks and velvets she'd once dreamed of. This was her third wedding, and once again, nothing was the way she'd expected it to be as a girl. It was better.  _This is exactly how it's supposed to be._

Jon helped her up and kissed her tenderly, cupping her cheek. "Are you happy, Sansa?"

She smiled and nodded, trying to fight back the tears. "You've made me very happy, Jon."

He grinned at the way she'd turned his words. He took her in his arms and she pressed their cheeks together, bringing her lips to his ear. "You're mine now, and I'm yours, and no one can ever take you away from me again. But that's not even the best part."

"What  _is_ the best part?" he murmured into her hair. "I can give you what you've always wanted."

He hummed out a satisfied sigh. "You've already given me everything. What more is there to give?"

"My name."

He pulled back and blinked at her in confusion. "As my husband, you can take my name, Jon Stark."

Jon buried his face in her neck. He didn't sob, but she felt a couple of tears running down her exposed skin and into the collar of her dress. He kissed her again and offered her a half-smile, smoothing her hair back. They were startled by the sound of someone clapping their hands, turning their heads in the direction of the sound. Bran was sitting in the rolling chair Maester Barth had designed for him, Meera Reed standing by his side. Jon grabbed Sansa's arm, gasping as he dug his fingers into the fabric of her sleeve. Bran was grinning at them. "What took you so long? We've been waiting here for hours!"


	52. Chapter 52

She had seen the dragons. She had seen Daenerys Targaryen and felt the power in her, fire and blood. The Lord's servants in the East were convinced that she was the Saviour. Not a Prince that was promised, but a Princess. Mel supposed it made sense, dragons were as changeable as flame, neither male or female, now one then the other. Or perhaps some small men had changed the prophecy over time, not believing that a woman could be a warrior, let alone the one to save them all from the darkness. But while men often brought death and destruction, women brought life and light, so there might be logic to the Lord's plans.

Daenerys had been born here on Dragonstone, amidst smoke and salt. Stormborn, they called her. She didn't wield a sword, but there might be a chance that part of the prophecy wasn't meant to be taken so literally. Was there ever a mightier weapon than a dragon? She had walked into a fire with those eggs turned to stone by the ages and lived, giving birth to three dragons.  _When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone_. It must be her.

Daenerys Targaryen had come to her once. She'd talked about the Red Priests in the East, about the slaves she'd freed.  _Melony, lot seven._ The memories had come to her unbidden. The priests gathering around her, marveling at the colour of her eyes. The slave girls bringing in the clay pot, spreading that pungent smell. The way they had held her down as they'd brushed the dye into her white hair. Sacrificing her maidenhead to the Lord of Light, the pain as she bled, stretched open by the wooden phallus, the masked priest panting above her on the altar. His rancid smell as he'd come to her sleeping cell after to plunge his own member into her.  _False prophets,_ she thought,  _but they still helped lead me to the right path._

Unfortunately that path was no longer clear to her. She'd been so certain once. The Lord had tried to show her the way, but her own shortcomings had led her astray. She'd tried telling Daenerys about the prophecy. She had smiled.  _"I had a vision of my brother Rhaegar once. He was led to believe he was the Prince that was Promised, until he became convinced that it must be his son. 'His is the song of ice and fire,' he said. I don't know, Lady Melisandre. I believe prophecies can be useful and there must be some truth to them. But I prefer to make my own dreams come true."_

_"Perhaps you should turn North then. If you save the realm, all shall hail you as their rightful Queen."_

She'd seen fear in the Dragon Queen's eyes then, a terrifying knowledge she couldn't seem to shake off.  _"I can't. I must unite the realm first."_

Mel had searched for an explanation for this puzzling reaction in her flames, hoping to convince Daenerys that choosing the right path was the only way to the Throne. She tried to visualize the image, the Silver Queen on the Iron Throne. But the Throne seemed to have disappeared and there was only death in Daenerys' future. She prayed for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, but R'hllor showed her only Snow. _A song of ice and fire._ Daenerys was fire, but not ice. She'd learned the truth about Jon Snow, he was Rhaegar Targaryen's son by Lyanna Stark, a son of ice and fire. She'd sensed that power in him, unable to identify it at the time. And it was true, it burned within him, as it did in Daenerys, yet it was different.

She'd been watching Jon Snow. Not intentionally, but these days he was all the flames would show her. She'd seen how he was proclaimed King in the North. _Is that the answer?_ Perhaps it would not to do to claim a crown and call yourself King or Queen. Perhaps the Lord's chosen one had to be chosen by the people.  _In the end, we are all his servants and he works through us, even if we don't realize it._ She'd seen him fall into his sister's arms. Kissed by fire, the Wildlings called her. She'd known it when his seed had quickened in her womb. She didn't understand why, but she knew it was a good thing.  _There is power in this union._ She'd known it when he'd come to Dragonstone and she'd even considered reaching out to him. She'd decided against it, she would wait for a sign. She'd seen him bond with one of the dragons.  _So much power,_ she'd mused,  _perhaps the beast could help him embrace it._

She needed to know more. She turned to the flames and stared until she was gone from her mind, opening it up to receive the Lord's messages. She saw a man with an evil eye, bringing the Wall down, darkness spreading across the lands. She saw a dragon fall from the sky over a castle built of snow. A giant tumbled from its walls. A lioness succumbed to her wounds as a dead thing was set ablaze. A weirwood tree stretched out his roots, infiltrating the ground as a murder of crows emerged from its foliage. A songbird in a golden cage turned into a wolf and then into a faceless woman, hundreds of miniature people clinging to her skirts like children. She saw a familiar face, framed by hair of the wrong colour.  _Waking dragons out of Stone._

A woman with dragon wings fell down, shrinking as she bled out in the snow, her blood turning to flames. A warrior armoured in ice, wielding a flaming sword, led an army into a mass of dead things, as the darkness fled before him. The world turned white and grey as it iced over and the darkness was consumed by flames of red, black and green. And all the time, in between her visions and sometimes disturbing them, there was a shadow, wearing different faces, now a wolf, then a lion and even a dragon. With the final image, Melisandre sank to her knees. She saw herself kneeling down as her heart was pierced by dragonsteel, her blood seeping into the blade.

 _So my time has come._ She felt no fear, no desire to resist. She'd accepted to die in the Lord's service a long time ago. She knew she'd have to make good use of the time she still had left. Jon Snow was caught up in the game of thrones now, held back by these Queens and their petty squabbles. He needed her help. She'd be of no assistance to him locked up in a cell. When she'd pushed herself to her feet, she knocked on the door, alerting the guard. A torch appeared in the small window, but the man holding it kept his distance. She offered him a seductive smile. "Don't be afraid, good man," she lilted, "I only want you to deliver a message. I wish to speak to Lord Varys."

The guard grunted and nodded, retreating from the door.  _This will be easy,_ she told herself as she heard his footsteps rise on the stairwell. She didn't want to use up too much of her power, but the eunuch was afraid of magic, he despised it. She could easily overpower him with a harmless but impressive trick. And then she could go to Jon Snow, guide him back to the right path. She was ready to play her final part. 


	53. Chapter 53

The air was thick with swirling mist. Dany couldn't see a hand before her eyes.  _This is supposed to be my home, but it's such a strange place._ She was searching for something, but she couldn't remember what it was. Slowly she became aware that she was not alone. There were things in the mist, dead things, clawing at her. And then she was running, ever moving forward.  _Where is it?_ She was so scared she could barely breathe, her muscles burning. She should have found it by now, but she couldn't see. The mist was too thick. But suddenly it was there, right in front of her. The red door. The lemon tree. 

The door swung open and a man walked through it, looking around curiously. Her heart leapt up and she flung herself into his arms. Jon offered her a half-smile and she kissed him. His lips were so soft. He locked her wrists in his hands and pushed her away. She could see his mouth moving, but his words sounded like an echo, coming from a place far away. "We can be family... Isn't that enough?"

He ruffled her hair, but then pulled back his hand, balling it into a fist, screwing his eyes shut in pain. Jon and the house with the red door dissolved into the mist and she was alone again, cold, scared and hungry. She decided to keep running. When the mist disappeared, she could see a red castle, a large part of which had been burned.

Most of the walls were still standing, but the roof had come off, allowing the snow to drift in and collect on the floor. Somehow she found herself inside and it was right there in front of her, only a few feet away. She took a few steps forward and stretched out her arm. If she uncurled her fingers, she could touch the Iron Throne, which was also covered in snow. She held her breath. Someone grabbed her arm. "There's no time, Dany! We have to go North!"

Jon had returned. She smiled at him. He held both her hands in his, a pleading look in his eyes. "I need your help, Dany!"

The gate behind him opened and he held out his hand, beckoning her to come with him. She knew what was out there. More snow and cold and death.  _You'll see Drogo again. And your son._ She shook her head. _I have three children, they need me._ She couldn't die, not now. She was so close, if only she could touch it first, she might come back alive. Jon was shouting at her. She ignored him and turned back to the Throne, reaching out again.

Dany woke with a start, sitting up in her tent, gasping for air.  _That dream again._ She pulled her knees up to hug them to her chest. She tried to forget the fear and the second part of her dream, lingering on the house with the red door. She remembered the last time she'd seen Jon. He'd wished her good luck. She'd answered she was confident his plan would work. She'd hesitated for a moment, but then she'd asked him: _"Did you mean it? When you said we could be family?"_

He'd smiled. _"Aye, I did."_

_"I'd like that, Nephew."_

He'd chuckled.  _"I don't know if I could get used to calling you Aunt. I'm older and you're tiny."_

She'd laughed, surprised at her own response.  _"Alright, perhaps you could be like a brother to me then."_

For a few moments, his eyes had grown a little wary, but then he'd conceded. _"Aye, I could try that."_

He'd mussed her hair with his hand, but had pulled it back quickly. She'd seen guilt or shame or something else flash in his eyes, before he'd turned away with a murmured goodbye. She'd wondered at his odd reaction, but she'd been even more puzzled by the fact that she'd liked his teasing and unfamiliar gesture.  _Yes, he could be my family. He could be the brother Viserys never was to me._

Unfortunately she still had those other dreams about Jon as well. They were the kind of dreams that left her loins aching and wet. Too often she was unable to resist slipping a hand between her legs, seeing his face and imagining what he looked like under his clothes. She'd draw circles over her nub, wondering if he'd be skilled at pleasuring a woman. She'd insert a finger or two, wishing it would be a larger hand between her legs or his cock inside her. Would he like to take her from behind or would he prefer her to ride him? Was he the kind of man who liked to do it in unusual places? Would he kiss her softly and hold her gently? Or would he bite her neck and grab her harshly?

She usually had to bite down on her fist to keep from crying out her release. She'd feel a little guilty after, fearing he would know what she'd done when she saw him the next time. Still even now she had to rub her thighs together because she'd let her mind wander to those moments.  _Not now,_ she told herself,  _it's almost light._ She had to get Drogon and Viserion. They were ready, the trap had been set. All they had to do was wait. 

It was simple. Everything went the way Jon had predicted it would go. They broke the Lannister lines quickly and surrounded them with ease. Dany could see from atop Drogon that the small host tasked with guarding the supply train yielded without much resistance. There were losses on their side too, but that was to be expected. They were winning and it was all going according to plan, until Viserion disobeyed her command to stay in the air and landed amidst the fray.

Some scattered, but others attempted to attack her dragon. Viserion burned them all, friend and foe alike. But then a man in Lannister armour approached him, picking up a Dothraki whip that had ended up on the ground. She noticed he was holding it in his left hand. Her eyes flew to his right. It flashed in the sun, almost the same golden colour as his hair. _The Kingslayer._ She watched in horror as Jaime Lannister lashed the whip, landing blow after blow on her sweet little boy's neck, all the while shouting at him. Viserion shrieked and roared and Dany cried out at him, almost feeling his pain in her own body. 

Finally Viserion submitted, bending his head to the Kingslayer. The man stood still for a moment, considering the dragon. Then he moved forward and climbed atop Viserion's back, who spread his wings and took off again. Dany didn't know how long she remained frozen in shock.  _Not my boy!_ When she cried his name again, it sounded closer to the wailing of a wounded animal than any human sound. She urged Drogon to start the pursuit, but they gave up quickly. Drogon was stronger and faster than Viserion, but she couldn't risk them hurting each other. They were brothers. She could only watch as her heart was torn from her chest. 


	54. Chapter 54

It had been madness. Complete and utter madness. Yet here he was, sitting on the back of a dragon, soaring through the clouds, quickly approaching King's Landing. Their army was gone and all had been lost. He'd found himself alone amidst corpses and men dead on their feet. There had been only fear and desperation. There was no way out. And then that monster had come down from the sky, burning everyone and everything around it.

All rational thoughts had been chased from his mind. It went blank. Empty. Or rather it had become filled with a reckless and inexplicable urge to approach the dragon.He'd looked at it and thought:  _white and gold,_ _just like me. Take the dragon, take the dragon._ So he had.

The beast was loathe to submit to Jaime and it struggled. But he had the whip and he was smart enough not to show any sign of fear. It wasn't easy, but it worked and they were about to reach their destination. Jaime gasped when he caught sight of the Red Keep. Was he too late? Had the Targaryen army already taken the capital? Or had Cersei used more of the Wildfire?  _Cersei._ "Come on!"

They landed right in the middle of the Throne Room and the dragon roared. Jaime jumped from its back, holding out the whip. The beast turned its nose upward and sniffed, rolling its head. To Jaime's surprise it curled up on the floor, melting away the light dusting of snow under and around its body.

Jaime left the room and made for Maegor's Holdfast, which had still seemed intact. He didn't meet a soul on his way there.  _Where have they all gone?_ Half a dozen maids were leaving Cersei's appartments with heavy buckets of water when he arrived there, the Mountain standing just outside the door. One of the girls almost dropped her buckets when she spotted him. He grabbed her by the arm. "Where is the Queen?"

"She's in there, Ser. But she's not well. She hasn't been well since... She bathes three times a day in scalding hot water and sits by the fire, staring into the flames."

He shook the girl, the buckets fell to the floor, the water soaked their feet and splashed their clothes. "Where's Qyburn? Why hasn't he been taking care of her?"

"Maester Qyburn is dead, Ser," she sobbed out, trembling, and added in a whisper: "Burned alive when  _he_ attacked the castle with his dragon."

Jaime frowned at her. "He? Who is he?"

Her panicked eyes darted back to the door. "We can't say his name, Ser."

 _What nonsense is this?_ He released the girl and pushed her aside, storming through the still open door. He found her in her solar, sitting by the fire. She'd lost more weight since he'd last seen her and the circles under her eyes were black. Her skin was red and raw and she was only wearing a thin shift, but her crown was still pinned to her short hair. He removed his armour and approached her. "Cersei," he whispered, "what happened? Who did this?"

She turned her eyes to him and her face broke into a smile. "Jaime," she choked out. For a moment she looked so much like the girl she'd once been it tore at his heartstrings. Then she continued in a flat voice: "I had a plan, Jaime. And it worked. Those horselords know no discipline. With their leaders gone, they're roaming wild. I just wanted to taunt him a bit, see how he would react when he thought his little wife was in danger. And it worked."

She rose to her feet, hugging her own arms. "But his dragon burned half the City Watch alive. And then he flew away on it and we saw, we saw... The Red Keep..."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Who, Cersei?  _Who_ did this?"

Her eyes met his with a blank expression. "Jon Snow."

 _The things we do for love._ He pulled her to him, her hands came to rest on his chest and he tucked her head under his chin. "I'll find him and I will kill him for you!"

He couldn't help himself. She was so close and warm and despite everything, she was still Cersei. He pulled her face up and kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue into her mouth. His hand carded into her hair, slid down her back to grip her hips and arse and up again to squeeze her breasts. She didn't respond to his touch, she only hissed: "And her too."

He ignored that, only grunted into her ear as he started walking her back, his hands on her hips and kissing her neck. When her back hit a pillar, he allowed his hands, the real one and the golden one, to roam over her body again. He still didn't get a reaction out of her, but she didn't fight him either, she only moaned: "And her too."

When he slipped his hand between her legs, her hips bucked involuntarily. He unlaced his breeches, freeing his throbbing cock. He pressed his body against her, rubbing himself against her mound. She repeated her request. Or was it a command? He didn't care. He turned her around and lifted her up against the pillar, bunching up her shift and pinning her to the stone with his body so he could guide himself inside her with his hand.

The wet heat of her cunt grabbed him and he bit down on her neck, eyes blinded. "And her too," he grunted as he started moving inside her.  _Another broken oath._ She threw her head back and hugged the pillar, digging her nails into the stone. She started babbling. "Jaime, oh Jaime. My Jaime."

He pounded into her, again and again, jostling her entire body, shoving her against the hard, cold stone until it must have hurt, but she didn't seem to care. She only moaned louder.  _It has been too long, this will be over soon._ "Come for me, Cersei. Show me how much you want me. Show me how much you've missed me."

She cried out his name again as her walls clenched around his cock and he followed soon after. They slid down onto the floor in a tangled heap of sweaty limbs. He kissed her ear.  _You'll get your your revenge, sweet Cersei. I'll fly North to Winterfell and burn it down. For you. Only for you._


	55. Chapter 55

They'd been up talking to Bran for a few more hours. He had told Jon about his visions and that he'd seen Father make his promise to Aunt Lyanna, with baby Jon in his arms. Jon's eyes had become a little unfocused, as if he'd been far away, but then he'd told them about Rhaegal. Sansa had listened in awe as Jon had described how it was the dragon who'd helped helped him discover the truth. She'd clenched her teeth when he'd explained that Daenerys Targaryen had tried to keep this information from him to trick him into marrying her and giving up his claim to the Iron Throne. It still gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with the babe. After that she'd confessed that it was Arya who had given her the news. Jon had grown quiet then, fear and hope and sadness in his eyes.  _"And you sent her away again?"_

_"No! She wanted to go! You think I could've stopped her?"_

His only answer had been a reluctant nod. He'd taken her hand and claimed she had to get back to bed. They'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, but still decided to rise early to break their fast in their solar. There was much to discuss and the Lords would want a report of Jon's trip South soon. Sansa squeezed his hand as he pulled out a chair for her. He didn't respond, but took his seat staring off into the distance, chewing his food slowly. Sansa bit her lip to keep the tears from gathering in her eyes. This was not how she'd imagined the morning after their wedding to be. "Jon," she choked out, "what's wrong? Please, talk to me?"

By the time Sansa thought she wasn't going to get an answer out of him, he finally started whispering, his eyes fixed on a spot behind her. "I heard them screaming in my dreams tonight. I can still smell the stench of their burning flesh."

His last comment made her stomach flip. Jon's knuckles stood white against his fist, the piece of bread in his hand almost crumbled to dust. After a long pause he continued. "I didn't mean to burn them. Rhaegal could feel how angry I was, how scared and she..."

Sansa frowned, reaching out to cover his hand with her own. "You're not making any sense, Jon. What made you angry and scared?"

"It was Cersei... We were there to negotiate, but..."

Sansa gave him an incredulous look. "They sent _you_ to negotiate with Cersei Lannister?"

Jon shook his head, his brow creased with deep lines. "No. She asked to speak with me specifically."

 _Of course._ "What did she say?"

"She said she'd sent someone to hurt you."

Sansa nodded. "Yes, it was Lana. She tried to poison me, but Arya and Maester Barth saved me."

He turned his hand up to twine his fingers through hers, pressing powdered crumbs into her palm. She saw something flash in his eyes. "I should have been here."

She exhaled through her nose, briefly closing her eyes. "But you weren't and you can't change that. And even if you had been here, there's nothing you could have done. What else did she say?"

Jon met her eyes for the first time that morning. "It was Littlefinger. It was Littlefinger who betrayed Father."

"I know."

He narrowed his eyes. "You knew?"

Her nostrils flared. "I only found out a couple of days ago. Do you honestly believe he'd still be alive if I had known before?"

He averted his eyes with a small jerk of his head. "When I heard that and I thought of him here with you, I- I snapped. Rhaegal came down and burned half the City Watch alive, and when we flew away she set the Red Keep on fire..."

Sansa swallowed a lump in her throat.  _So much for negotiations._ Of course Cersei had probably never intended to negotiate at all. Provoking Jon must have been her plan all along. Sansa wished her thoughts wouldn't drift to the way Ramsay had used Rickon to lure Jon into a trap, but they did. "That's why you came back?"

Jon jerked up his chin. "No. I've wanted to come back since I found out. But Daenerys, and Tyrion too, they just kept playing their games with me."

"I told you it would be like that."

He shook his head. "No, you don't understand, Sansa."

She let go of his hand, folding her arms over of her chest. "I don't understand? I've lived with people like them for years."

He flattened his hand on the table, forcing out the words through clenched teeth. "That's not what I meant. Daenerys was never going to agree to my terms. And she always came up with new excuses to keep me there. She doesn't just want me for my claim and for the sake of an alliance, she wants me!"

Sansa suddenly felt as if her heart was caught in an iron grip. "So that's what took you so long?" she heard herself screech at him, "You were having such a good time with Daenerys?"

Jon looked as if she'd struck him. "What? No!"

She didn't meet his eyes. "Don't lie to me, Jon. I know what men are like..."

He leapt to his feet, turning over his chair. His eyes were on fire, but his voice was ice. "Oh, do you? Perhaps you've been associating with the wrong men. Or should I say man?"

In a moment, Sansa was on her feet as well. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He threw up his hands. "I don't know, Sansa. You tell me! It's clear you don't trust me anyway!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, unable to hold back the tears now, fists balled at her sides. "Like you don't trust me because of my association with a certain man? Like you don't trust me because I couldn't keep Arya here?"

His fist came down on the table. "You could have tried!"

She flinched, but collected herself quickly, squaring her shoulders. "What should I have done, Jon?"

He stared at her for a moment, chest heaving. "You're the fucking Queen, Sansa. You could have ordered her to stay. Tied her to her bed if necessary or something like that!"

She rolled her eyes, jutting her chin out. Her tone was venomous to her own ears. "Is that what you would have done?"

"Aye! If I had no other choice!"

She hurled out her arms, knocking a jug from the table. "You know what? You're right, Jon! You should have stayed here and I should have gone South! Perhaps then it wouldn't have been such a waste of time!"

Jon froze with his mouth half-open and glared at her. He kicked his foot against the table as he strode past. The door slammed shut with a loud bang behind her.

Sansa tried to handle her tasks as usual for the rest of the day, but by mid-afternoon, she fled to the bedroom to cry herself to sleep. She woke up when she heard the click of the door. She listened to him moving around the room, felt the dip of the mattress when he climbed onto the bed. She could feel him hovering behind her, as if he was going to touch her shoulder or whisper her name. She scrunched her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep, too scared and too stubborn to acknowledge his presence. He let out an almost inaudible sigh and turned around, moving away to the far side of the bed. She clenched her teeth to stifle the sob building in her throat. Mentally she cursed herself.  _Stupid girl!_


	56. Chapter 56

"I still don't get this fainting business, Jon Snow, but I s'pose it's not their fault."

He frowned at Ygritte, who sat staring at the fire, a thoughtful look on her face. "What d'you mean?"

She offered him a smirk. "It's the men who make your women like that, locking them up in towers and putting them in silk dresses. No wonder they can't look after themselves. Do you Southerners like your women that way?"

He smiled. "I don't."

"Whoever decided to put men in charge here, knew even less than you," she responded, shaking her head. Jon shrugged. "It's always been like that."

She barked out a laugh. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. Of course it's not always been like that. Before you came and took our lands, women were the leaders. Life has always been hard, but it's men who messed everything up. You just take and take and take and destroy everything."

She turned her head, taking in the look on his face. "You don't believe me? It's true!"

He pressed his lips together, looking down. "I've never heard that before."

"I reckon you wouldn't have. There's so much you people don't know. You've forgotten all 'bout it."

Suddenly Ygritte was gone and he was descending the stairs into the crypts below Winterfell. A man was standing in front of Lyanna Stark's statue. When Jon came closer he saw he had long silver hair. He turned his indigo eyes on Jon and he knew who it was. They didn't look anything alike, but still there was something in the line of his nose, the shape of his lips. But it was the melancholy look in Rhaegar's eyes that made Jon feel as if he was looking into a mirror. "You're not Visenya," he said, his voice wistful.

Lyanna's statue came alive and smacked him across the face. Rhaegar crumbled to dust. Jon didn't get a chance to really look at his Mother as Rhaegal appeared and breathed fire, and the girl who looked like Arya was enveloped by flames. He screamed as he watched the flesh melting off her bones.

He was at the Wall again and Robb was charging forward, a spear in his hand. Before he could hit him, Jon drew Longclaw and cut off his head, roaring: "I am the Lord of Winterfell!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw something move in the leaves of a weirwood tree. He turned around to have a closer look. Arya was dancing on the thin branches, Needle in her hand. He gasped when he saw that she had a monkey's tail sprouting out of the back of her breeches.

He was dead, surrounded by darkness and nothingness, but flames erupted around his body and he was alive again. He'd been mistaken, there was no fire, it was Sansa's hair. He sat up to embrace her, but she recoiled and snapped: "You know nothing, Jon Snow", before she was struck by an arrow and collapsed in his arms. 

When he opened his eyes, he thought he was still dreaming. He couldn't remember falling asleep, cramped up as he'd been on his side of the bed. But now he was lying on his back in the middle of it, holding Sansa, her head and one hand resting on his chest and one long leg draped over his hips. She was breathing evenly. He reached up to pull her hair out of his mouth. He couldn't move without waking her up.  _Gods, the things we said yesterday._ How was it even possible that he'd woken up to that nightmare after the most wonderful night of his life?

He realized she was awake as well when her body tensed. He held his breath. She relaxed somewhat and he exhaled, but he could feel her heart hammering against the side of his chest. After a couple of minutes had passed in silence, she whispered: "Jon? Are you still mad?"

He licked his lips. His voice came out low and raspy. "A little. I- Mostly I am disappointed. You hurt me, Sansa."

He felt her swallow. "I know. I'm sorry, I really am. It's not your fault they wouldn't help you. And I  _do_ trust you, it's just... I don't know. I can't explain."

Jon pulled away to turn to his side and face her. "Could you please try? I don't understand."

Sansa bit her lip and frowned. He swallowed back a sigh.  _She's just trying to find the right words._ "Sometimes I still find it difficult to believe you're different than all the others, because that makes you too good to be true."

He shook his head, opening his mouth, but she held up a finger to silence him. He nodded for her to continue. "But when I do, it terrifies me. You deserve so much better than me. So it would make sense if you chose someone else."

He lifted her chin to look her in the eyes so he could make sure she was being serious. How was it possible she couldn't see that he was the one who didn't deserve her? "How can you say that, Sansa? Have you forgotten that we were married not even two days ago? Do you think I would have done that if I preferred someone else?"

She shrugged, casting her eyes down again. "I know it doesn't make sense, Jon. And I know you don't understand why I've kept Baelish around, but I swear that the moment he sets foot within these walls again, he will lose his head."

"Please don't. Don't try to apologize for that. What I said was wrong and so unfair. I'm sorry. After everything he's done to you, I shouldn't have blamed that on you."

She looked up to meet his eyes now. "I know you didn't mean it. Gods, Jon, you were gone for such a long time and I felt alone again. I realize now I can't do this by myself. I need you by my side."

He smoothed back her hair and chuckled. "Sweet, silly girl, of course you don't need me. You _have_ been doing it all by yourself. I talked to all these people yesterday, heard about all the things you've done while I was gone. I never could have done all of that without you."

She blinked at him a couple of times. "I'm not talking about Winterfell, Jon, I'm talking about me. I need your help and support. I need to know that at the end of the day, you'll be there to hold me and kiss me so I can feel safe, so I can be Sansa again instead of the Queen."

He pulled her in for a kiss. "I still think I'm the one who needs you. I'm nothing without you."

"That's not true," she giggled, but suddenly fell silent and bit her lip again. "Do you still resent me for letting Arya go?"

He let his hand slide down her arm until it was resting on her hip. "No, I'm sorry. I know there's nothing you could have done, if she had her mind set on leaving. I'm just worried and scared, because..."

"Because?"

How could he explain this? It was hard to find the right words and he was scared to admit this to her. He hated to point it out to her, draw her attention to what he'd done. "All of this, Winterfell, the Crown, the North, having a family, it was never meant for me, especially now. It was all meant for Robb. The only reason I can even be here, is because he's gone. I never should have taken any of it, but I took it anyway. And sometimes I'm afraid I'll be punished for being so selfish. So if Arya doesn't return, it would be my fault."

Sansa reached up to frame his face in her hands. "Now you're being silly. You're the least selfish person I know. And Arya _will_ come back. I don't think there's anything that could stop her."

Jon laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. "I suppose you're right about that. But I _am_ selfish. I tried to do my duty, but in the end I decided I didn't care anymore. I just wanted you, Sansa."

She curled her hands into his hair and kissed him. "You're my husband now, Jon, so your only duty is to stay with me."

 


	57. Chapter 57

Sansa was reading a letter, her brow furrowed in concentration, when Jon opened the door. He stood watching her in silence until she put it down on her desk and a smile lit up her face. "Good news?"

She nodded as he took a seat. "I'll let you read it in a minute, but there are some other things I'd like to discuss first. When Maester Barth came in earlier to deliver this, he made a confession."

He leaned forward, holding his breath. "Littlefinger was blackmailing him. He was threatening to tell me that the Maester was implicated in his sister's murder plans, if he didn't keep him informed of Winterfell's affairs. So Baelish knows you're back. Lucky for us the Maester has finally remembered where his true allegiance lies. He's even compiled a list of Littlefinger's other spies. I've already sent men to take them into custody."

Jon allowed his shoulders to relax somewhat and rubbed his beard. "Do you believe him? It might be a trick..."

"True. Littlefinger already told me he had nothing to do with the poison. In fact, he saved my life, so I don't think he'll try to harm us, but still... He'll be banned from council meetings and we can't let him handle any important messages right now."

"Lady Karstark has a Maester in her retinue, hasn't she?"

She nodded and sighed. "I like having her and Tormund around, I really do, but their presence here is putting a strain on our stores... And Glover and Cerwyn have returned as well. Manderly has brought plenty of his own food and such, but still... The place's crowded and I don't like all these men cramped up here together."

He took her hand. "I'll take them out for a hunt next week. It'll bring in some meat and furs, and it will keep them entertained for a couple of days."

Sansa smiled at him. "That's a good idea. Thank you. Oh, and Lord Royce is on his way back to the Eyrie. He's confident the Lords of the Vale will side with us once they discover the truth about Lysa Arryn's death. And Father's death for that matter, he was well loved in the Vale. Most of them were in favour of supporting Robb, you know. But my Aunt Lysa wanted to stay out of it."

She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, lost in thought for a moment. Jon knew she must be wondering, as he was, whether it would have made any difference. If Robb'd had the support of the Vale, would he still be alive? Would he still be the King in the North? "Lord Royce knows that you're back and that you're going to stay. He wants to try and convince Robert Arryn to have the Vale proclaim you as their King."

Jon felt his eyebrows rise up his forehead before it creased into a frown. "Sansa, you're the Queen in the North. And I doubt he'll still be as eager to accept me as his King once he finds out the truth."

She grabbed his hand more tightly. "You're my husband. They'll _have_ to accept you as their King."

He shook his head. "Don't you remember? Whoever married you, would be Prince Consort, nothing more. I don't care about being King."

She pursed her lips. "Trust me, Jon, it will be easier for both of us, if you just accept the title. The Lords-

"Alright, I trust you."

He was rewarded with her brightest smile. He squeezed her hand in return. "So Baelish will be tried for murder and treason. Will the trial be here or in the Vale?"

"It depends, if he has to pass through the Vale on his way back here, they'll probably capture him and have the trial there... But I don't think he will, he'll come back here as soon as possible."

He traced a finger over her palm and nodded. "I suppose he will. Good. Means I can take his head myself. So, what's in the letter?"

She offered him a half-smile. "It seems the Freys haven't been able to control the chaos in the Riverlands after Arya's visit."

A shiver ran down Jon's spine. The idea of Arya killing people made him feel more than a bit uncomfortable.  _You gave her her first blade._ Perhaps it was that he had trouble imagining her as the young woman she must have become by now. He still thought of her as that skinny little girl. He turned his attention back to Sansa. "So my Uncle Edmure has been restored to his seat and has declared for House Stark. Robb was King of the Trident as well after all."

Jon pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "What's wrong, Jon? This is good news!"

"Is it?"

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but then closed it again, biting her lip. "Are you worried again?"

He nodded. "Why?"

"Daenerys. She might have granted the North its independence, under the right conditions, but three of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"It was never hers to grant. What do you mean, right conditions?"

He sighed. "I know. I told you I wanted to come home as soon as I found out, but she asked for my assistance. She wanted me to help her take King's Landing, she needed my advice to fight the Lannisters in the Reach. And I agreed because I thought it would please her, that she'd be more willing to help me in return. She wants an alliance with the North, so I assured her I could give her that if she let me go home."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

"Daenerys is my Aunt by blood, so through my marriage to you, she could forge a lasting alliance with the North."

"Did you tell her that?"

He shook his head. "Why not?"

He stared at their hands for a moment. "I- I don't trust her... I was afraid she might try to hurt you. I was planning on telling her afterwards, so she'd have no other choice but to accept it."

Sansa rose to her feet, walking around her desk to come sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. His own came up to encircle her waist. "Do you really think she's a threat? We have the North, the Vale and the Riverlands. She has the Reach, but Dorne is caught up in its own rebellions. Her hold on the Stormlands is weak, you said so yourself. And she still has to deal with the Lannisters."

Jon rubbed his hands up and down her back. "Even after that, she'll still have an enormous army. And two dragons."

She shrugged. "You have one of your own. Besides, no army has ever been able to pass through the Neck, and it's Winter."

"Which still puts the Vale and the Riverlands in danger. We can't spare the men to help them out if she decides to attack them. And she still has a large fleet to bring her armies North."

She nodded slowly. "It doesn't need to come to that, does it?"

He tilted his head to rest it against her arm. "I hope it doesn't."

"We'll figure something out. As long as we're together."

He slid his hands up to her neck to unravel her braid and run his fingers through her hair, pulling down her face so he could kiss her lips. She curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss. When she licked the seam of his lips, he parted them with a soft moan. She nipped his bottom lip, pulling away to make him chase her mouth. He could feel her smile against his lips when he'd caught her again. "As long as we're together."

 

 

 

 

 


	58. Chapter 58

"Don't go," Jon groaned when they heard a knock on the door. Sansa pushed against his chest until he released her and walked back to her own chair. He was grinning at her. "You might as well come back here. Your hair's a mess and your lips are swollen. One look at you and they'll know."

Her hands flew up to smooth back her hair, but she dropped them quickly, meeting his eyes. He was looking just as dishevelled. "They'll find out soon enough anyway. Come in!"

He was right. When Amma came in and looked from her to Jon and back, she had to press her lips together to hide her smile. Sansa didn't miss the amused look in her dark eyes. She had to stifle a giggle herself when she took in the blush on Jon's face. "Your Grace," the maid said as she curtsied, "your bath is almost ready."

"Thank you, Amma."

As soon as she had closed the door, Jon was on his feet to hurry around the desk. He buried his face in Sansa's hair and whispered urgently: "See? I told you so! What if she tells someone?"

She pushed herself off the chair and let him pull her body against his. "Don't worry, she won't."

"How can you be so sure? How did she get here? She's not from the North, perhaps she's another spy," he murmured as he trailed his lips along her jaw. "She's Dornish. I trust her."

Suddenly she was on the desk, Jon's mouth on her neck. "Dornish? How did she end up so far North? And isn't she a little old to be a maid?"

Jon was bunching up her skirts, one hand already on the inside of her thighs. When he pulled her closer to the edge, her legs parted of their own accord. "I wanted an older woman. Young girls can be so fickle. I believe she left Dorne about twenty years ago. She has a lot of experience. Used to work as a midwife for a while too."

He seemed to have run out of questions. He crushed their mouths together as his hand slid into her smallclothes and down her mound.  _Not now,_ she thought,  _he might stop._ He sucked her lip between his own as he slipped one finger between her folds. "Gods, Sansa, you're wet!"

She whimpered when his finger found her nub, grabbing the edge of the desk with two hands. He drew a few lazy circles around it as he nibbled on her earlobe, before moving his finger lower again. It entered her effortlessly. He pulled it out slowly, removing his face from her neck. He licked his finger clean, groaning as he held her gaze, his eyes dark with desire.

In an instant her smallclothes were on the floor and Jon was unlacing his breeches. As he lifted her right leg over his hip, her slippers dropped as well. "My bath will be ready, Jon. I don't want to bathe in cold water!"

"Don't worry. I won't be long. I just want to feel you before I let you go," he explained as he guided himself inside her, pushing in slowly until she could feel his balls brush against her. She gasped. "Pity. I was going to ask you to join me."

He pulled out almost completely and slid back in. "Were you?"

He repeated the motion. "Why do you feel so good? One more time."

She wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him back in. She threw her head back and moaned. He braced his hands on the table. "What's wrong? You don't want me to leave? What about your bath?"

 _Who cares about my bath?_ He was still moving agonizingly slow. She leaned back until her shoulders touched the wood. "I used to think about you, while you were gone."

"I would hope so," he chuckled. "No, I mean, when I was taking a bath, I'd imagine you were in the tub with me."

Her comment made him pick up his pace. _Yes, that's better._  "What would we do in that bathtub of yours?"

"Something like this. Different position," Sansa breathed as Jon's thrusts grew harder. "And then I'd touch myself, like this," she confessed, lifting her head to meet his eyes, slipping a hand between them to find her nub. He moved one of his hands up as well to push her bunched up skirts out of the way. "Gods, Sansa, are you trying to drive me insane?"

She could feel the pressure building, certain it was about to snap. She closed her eyes, letting her head drop back. Her peak always came so easily when he took her on a table or a desk. He moved his hands further up the table to lean over her. "Look at me. I want to see your face when you come."

She did, digging her heels into his lower back. Sweat was beading on his forehead and she could tell by the way he clenched his jaw that he was close as well. She increased the pressure on her nub and then Jon shifted slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside her. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as her release took her. It didn't take him long to follow her. His hips snapped quickly in a few shallow thrusts and he came with a long moan, rocking against her.

"That wasn't supossed to happen," he panted, "I just wanted to tease you a little."

She raised her eyebrows. "Tease me? Or tease yourself?"

He grinned as he pulled out of her. He reached down to retrieve her smallclothes so she could clean herself up. "I don't think your bath water has had a chance to cool down too much."

She giggled as he helped her off the desk. "Wait here. I'll send the maids away first."

Jon entered the room almost as soon as the maids had left it. In a few more moments he was out of his clothes and in the tub. He sat down behind her, his legs on either side of hers, so she could lean back against his chest. He picked up the soap and a washing cloth to lather her arms, back and shoulders in slow circles. He paused regularly to press his lips to her neck and cheeks. Sansa closed her eyes and relaxed, purring: "I could get used to this."

His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "I wouldn't mind. Your hair as well?"

"No! Why do you think I pinned it up?"

She felt his low chuckle rumble through his chest, as he draped his arms over the edges of the tub. "I'd just like to see you with your hair all wet and sticking to your neck and teats."

She sank further into the water, letting her head fall back against his shoulder to look up at him, before closing her eyes. "Hmm, some other time."

He inclined his head to kiss her. "Tell me about that position?"

Her eyes flew open. "Again?"

He nodded with a serious look on his face. "Otherwise you'll keep me up all night again," he explained, the corner of his mouth quirking up. She veered up, smacking his tigh in response, but quickly slumped back again when she felt his lips behind her ear and his hand between her thighs.

She could feel him growing harder against her back. She shifted and reached back to wrap a hand around his length, drawing a moan from his lips. She turned around to climb into his lap. "Not yet," he told her, stopping her in her tracks to find her nub again with his thumb, slipping a finger inside her. She started moving her hand up and down in long, slow strokes, riding his hand. 

The door burst open and Sansa could hear Amma's panicked voice: "Your Grace! Your Grace!"

She tried to turn around, but found herself unable to as Jon's arms were pinning her to his body. He was furious. "Has no one ever told you to knock first, woman?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I wasn't thinking. It's because of the dragon. There's a dragon coming this way!"

 

 


	59. Chapter 59

Bran was already up on the roof of the Maester's Turret with Meera Reed and half a dozen guards when Jon and Sansa arrived there. Jon peered through the Maester's spyglass. When he spotted the dragon, he knew something was wrong. Instead of Drogon, he saw a smaller shape, white and golden scales reflecting the weak sunlight. Sansa put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Jon?"

"I can't find Drogon, it's just Viserion. Daenerys only rides Drogon."

"Let me see," she said, taking his place at the spyglass, "there is _someone_ riding that dragon."

She gasped and pulled back, grabbing both of his arms. "It's Jaime Lannister!"

"What?"

He glared at Bran, who was sitting back against the wall, a confused look on his face. "Didn't you see this coming in your visions?"

Bran blinked. "I- I did, but I didn't understand what it meant."

"What do you mean? You didn't understand?"

"Jon!"

Sansa was trying to shake him, an irritated look on her face. Bran just met his anger with a calm nod. "It's alright, Sansa. We're all scared. Visions of the future aren't as straightforward as looking into the past or seeing something far away. I saw a winged lion pouncing on a castle built of snow."

Meera Reed grabbed Bran's shoulder. "What are we going to do?"

He didn't turn to her, just covered her hand with his own, holding his gaze on Jon. "You can do this, Jon."

He swallowed and nodded, wrapping an arm around Sansa's waist.  _Rhaegal, where are you?_ He didn't see Sansa, Bran, Meera or the guards anymore, just the snow-covered moors from further up in the sky. He heard Sansa gasp at his side and Meera's cry: "Bran! His eyes!"

It didn't take long before he heard a familiar screech. Rhaegal came gliding down until she was hovering just beside the roof of the turret. The guards shouted and gasped. He could feel Sansa tense at his side. He turned to face her and pressed their foreheads together, one hand on the small of her back, the other cupping her cheek. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

He gazed into her bright blue eyes for a moment and kissed her deeply, not caring about the guards being able to see them. "Come back to me," she whispered. He leapt onto his dragon's back and smiled at his wife. "I will. I always will."

Rhaegal took off in the direction of the quickly growing shadow approaching Winterfell. When they came close, the dragon arched her back and rolled her head. Jon had to tighten his grip.  _What is it, girl?_ She let out a low whine. He slipped into her mind to find out what was wrong. He was overwhelmed by a red hot fog that left his mind in a haze and sent an ache through his groin.  _What the fuck was that?_

He patted the side of her neck and shouted: "Focus, Rhaegal!"

She roared back. He tried to connect with her again. He found her less confused now, but the haze was still there in the back of her mind. He ignored it, determined to keep both of their heads clear.  _Alright, let's give them a warning._ She opened her jaws and spat out a small jet of flames. Viserion screeched in response and reared.

Jon brought Rhaegal closer, until he had a clear view of the Kingslayer's face. He saw that he was strapped to the dragon's back by a contraption of leather belts. "Stop this nonsense before it's too late, Lannister! Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work!"

Jaime Lannister smirked and shouted back: "Watch me, Snow!"

He brought a whip down on Viserion's neck and the dragon shot forward. "Burn them!"

Viserion didn't obey. He just rolled his head the way Rhaegal had earlier and let out a deep guttural howl. Jon's dragon snapped at her brother and roared back. Suddenly Viserion was behind them, his legs around his sister's tail, his claws digging into her hind quarters. Jon felt her pain, sharp and sudden, but the ache in his groin returned as well, and he realized what the other dragon was trying to do.  _Seriously?_

He urged his own dragon forward and they whirled around. The beasts engaged in a dance, beating their wings at each other and erupting into a raging clamour of deafening roars and screeches. Rhaegal snapped her teeth again and Viserion recoiled. Flames burst out of her open mouth. The Kingslayer's right shoulder caught fire and he brought up his remaining hand to beat at the flames, dropping the whip.

 _Good! Now!_ Rhaegal hesitated. Jon watched her reliving memories. Playing with Viserion when they weren't larger than cats, judging from the people moving around them. Daenerys' dirty and tired face. Soaring above the sea, catching fish with her brothers. She remembered the months she and Viserion had spent locked up in the dark under the Great Pyramid of Meereen together. But then Viserion spat fire at them and Jon's nostrils were filled with the stench of something burning.

He only realized his hair was on fire when he heard the flames sizzling on top of his head, not even registering the pain. Oddly calm and barely thinking he patted them out. He saw his own face in Rhaegal's mind then and she lunged forward. Viserion shrieked when her teeth closed around his neck. Jon drew Longclaw, aiming for Jaime Lannister.

Before he could reach him, Viserion shook his sister off and Jon was thrown back, barely able to hold on. He tightened his legs' grip on his dragon's neck and grasped at her scales with his left hand. By some miracle, Longclaw was still in his right. Rhaegal beat her wings to steady herself, but the motion launched them forward again and Jon hurled out his sword arm involuntarily. He watched as his blade pierced Viserion's right eye, disappearing into the dragon's head almost to the hilt.

Jon released Longclaw and Viserion howled in agony and faltered. His wings stopped beating and the great beast spiralled down. Despite the thick layer of snow, Jon could still hear and feel the crash when the dragon hit the ground. Shock and horror coursed through his body, strengthened by Rhaegal's pain. She hurried down.  _I'm sorry, Rhaegal, I'm so sorry._

She didn't respond, too focused on reaching her brother. When they landed, Rhaegal let out a heartwrenching shriek and Jon felt as if his blood had frozen inside his veins. When he saw Jaime Lannister stir under Viserion's neck however, his pain and shock turned into a fiery rage. He opened his mouth, ready to give the command, but Rhaegal tried to shake him off.  _Please, Rhaegal, please!_

She broke their mental connection and he slid down her neck, backing away slowly. For a moment Jon thought that his end had come, that she was going to burn him to a crisp, but she just roared at him and took off in the direction of the Wolfswood. He fell to his hands and knees, retching out the contents of his stomach.

 


	60. Chapter 60

Brienne and her two companions were sitting huddled around the small fire they'd managed to start. Though he was probably too tired and too cold to talk now, Ser Davos made for good company most of the time, but Gendry Baratheon was as quiet and sullen as ever. She couldn't say she enjoyed having him with her, but she'd felt honour-bound to agree with Ser Davos when he'd insisted they take the lad with them on their journey back North. She knew Jon Snow had befriended him. She couldn't help but think they were well matched.

She studied the young Lord Baratheon. His physical resemblance to Renly was hard to miss, but he had none of the late King's easy charm. She'd seen him fight and though his style could hardly be called refined, it was clear he possessed the same strength Robert had been known for. Renly had always commented on Stannis' stern silence and bluntness. Perhaps Gendry took after that side of the Baratheon family as well to some extent. 

It had been five days since they'd left Duskendale. They had expected to find a ship there to take them back North. They had not, but they had managed to send a raven to inform Podrick and the rest of the men who'd stayed behind on Dragonstone, of the recent events in and around King's Landing. She and Davos had discussed the contents of the letter at length, as they'd known the first person to lay eyes on it would be the Spider.

In the end they'd decided to keep it as brief and vague as possible, without denying the eunuch the necessary information about the failed negotiations. After they'd sent the raven, they had left Duskendale. They were on their way to Maidenpool now, hoping to have more success there. Brienne was eager to avoid another trip through the ravaged Riverlands and none of them were looking forward to travelling through the Neck and the wintery vastness of the North after that. 

Ser Davos looked up from the fire. Brienne had been surprised to admit that she'd actually come to like and trust the man, despite his former allegiance to Stannis. He'd told her he'd always tried to shield his King from the Red Woman's influence, and that he deeply regretted his failure to do so in the end. She'd found no reason to distrust his story, especially after Sansa had told her about Davos' fondness of Stannis' daughter Shireen.

"You should try to get some sleep, My Lady," the Onion Knight commented. She rolled her eyes. Neither Davos or Gendry ever failed to use that title. She knew they meant well, but she always felt rather ridiculous. Catelyn Stark and Margaery Tyrell had been ladies. Queen Sansa certainly was one, but not her. 

She nodded anyway. She couldn't deny her relief at travelling in the company of two trustworthy men. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax enough to get a good night's sleep otherwise, even if she was exhausted. "Thank you, Ser. I'll rise early to take the last watch."

She turned toward Gendry and added. "You should retire as well, My Lord."

Brienne smiled to herself as she turned around. She couldn't help it, even if she felt guilty for relishing in the men's obvious discomfort when she addressed them as Ser and My Lord respectively. She sighed as she stretched out on her bedroll. The temperature hadn't dropped as low around here as it had up North and snowfall was still rare so far South, but she was still grateful they'd managed to sneak out the tents when they'd left the Targaryen camp. 

She hadn't been thrilled to abandon their supposed allies like that, taking off like thieves in the night, but she knew they'd had no other choice. The Unsullied and the Dornishmen would have never agreed to let them go if they'd told them the truth of what had happened.

She knew King Jon hadn't meant to leave them the way he had, but if there was a chance that Sansa was in danger, he couldn't take any risks. She also believed he hadn't had any intentions to attack Cersei Lannister's guard. It had all been the dragon. Somehow she suspected Queen Daenerys and her allies wouldn't be convinced of those facts so easily.

Soon Brienne found herself too tired to reflect on recent events any longer. Sleep was precious, so she turned onto her side and curled up, drifting off easily. Her dreams were filled with memories of Renly and Jaime Lannister. She also dreamt of her promises to Lady Catelyn and Queen Sansa. When Jon Snow fell off his dragon, she held out her arms like a fool, as if she could catch him.

She woke with a gasp to the feeling of cold steel being pressed against her throat. She couldn't move. Someone was sitting on her chest. "Where's my brother, Brienne of Tarth? Sansa said you were supposed to protect him."

The voice was vaguely familiar. When her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she recognized the face that went with it, hovering over hers only inches away. "Lady Arya!"


	61. Chapter 61

"I thought you were smarter than this. Why haven't you posted any guards?"

Brienne waved a hand at the dagger Arya was holding to her throat. "Fine," she agreed  hopping off her broad chest and allowing her to sit up. "We don't have any guards with us. It's just the three of us."

Arya narrowed her eyes at Brienne. "No, there's only two of you. The third tent is empty, which means Jon is gone."

The Lady Knight blinked at her, shaking her head. "No, no. King Jon is not with us. He left when we were still outside King's Landing. He flew off on his dragon."

Arya's mouth fell open.  _Jon has a dragon?_ That was great, he must have found out. Knowing him, he was probably on his way back home. Which meant it had happened again. She was too late and she'd missed Jon. _I never should have left Winterfell._ She hated to admit it, but perhaps she'd been wrong to insist she had to come find him. Bran might have been right. Should she have listened to Sansa? She almost huffed. But what if something happened, and she'd never see Jon again? She'd been too late to reach Mother and Robb, and they had died. She'd missed Sansa in the Vale and look what had happened to her.  _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Calm as still water,_ she had to remind herself.

"And you're sure there wasn't anyone sitting by the fire or with the horses anymore?"

She looked up. "Positive. Who else was with you?"

Suddenly they heard someone shouting outside. Arya quickly crawled out of the tent, followed by Brienne, to find the Hound holding down the old man who'd been asleep in one of the other tents. It was a clear night and the moon was almost full again, illuminating the scene before them.

"Let him go, Clegane," she sighed, turning to the man who must be Ser Davos Seaworth,"we mean you no harm. I am Arya Stark."

The Hound only released Davos when he spotted Brienne behind her. In the blink of an eye they'd both drawn their swords. Arya rolled her eyes. "Keep quiet, dog! I know she almost killed you, but so did I. Get over it!"

The old man peered at her. "Arya Stark? Yes, I suppose you are... My Lady," he said, addressing Brienne, "I was on my way here when this brute caught me. It's Gendry! He's disappeared!"

Arya gaped at the man. "Gendry? Gendry the blacksmith? Gendry from Flea Bottom?"

Ser Davos chuckled. "The one and only, My Lady. Though he goes by Gendry Baratheon these days."

"I'm not a lady," she said absentmindedly, seeing Brienne smile from the corner of her eye. Could it be true? She'd boarded another ship to come down here and bring Jon back home, a mission she shouldn't have embarked on to begin with... But finding Gendry could be an unexpected reward. She tried to imagine seeing him again, tried to conjure up his face before her mind's eye. The idea had her heart beating faster as a lump started to form in her throat. She swallowed several times, chewing the inside of her cheek, realizing her insides had become caught in a turmoil.  _A girl has no emotions,_ Jaqen H'ghar's voice resounded in her head.  _But a girl is not no one._ But who was she, truly? 

She shook her head to clear it. "What do you mean, he's disappeared?"

"He had second watch," Brienne explained, "but he's been gone for a while. The fire has almost died out."

Arya glanced in the direction of the fire, already aware Brienne was right. She walked nearer to it anyway and saw something glittering on the frozen ground. She picked it up to rub it between her fingers. "There's some sort of dust or powder here."

She knelt down again, searching for more clues. She could see it now. Someone had fallen to the ground here, probably Gendry, and it looked like he had been dragged away. "Follow me," she called out, "I've found tracks!"

She didn't turn back to see if they did. She even ignored the Hound's angry grunts. She kept her eyes on the trail in front of her, moving silently so she could listen more carefully. Gendry and his companions had set up their tents at the entrance of a narrow pass between two cliffs and the tracks led her further into the passage.  _This could be a trap._ It probably was. She could hear the distinct footsteps of the Hound, Brienne and Davos behind her. They were making too much noise. She bit her lip, clutching the dagger in her left hand and keeping a close grip on Dark Sister's pommel.

After about half a mile, the trail started leading them to a treacherous path winding up to the top of the right cliff.  _If the ambush doesn't kill us, the rock might._ She heard an urgent whisper. "Lady Arya!"

She turned back to find Brienne close behind her. "Let me go first!"

She put a finger over her lips and shook her head frantically. Brienne looked as if she was going to argue, but Arya spun around and continued climbing. They moved up in relative silence for what must have been at least half an hour. To her surprise she smelled the brine of the sea, meaning they had almost reached the top of the cliff without meeting any surprises. The wind whipped her hair away from her face, carrying with it the sound of a woman's voice chanting. "Kesrio syt bantis zobrie issa se ossyngnoti ledys. Drivo Perzo valar dohaeris!"

Dread clutched Arya's heart in an iron grip.  _No._ _Fear cuts deeper than swords. You must be fierce as a wolverine._ The woman had stopped chanting to pray in the Common Tongue. "Lord of Light, deliver us from these usurpers, this dark king and these false queens! Extinguish the sinister flames of Cersei Lannister, Euron Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen!"

Arya had reached the top of the cliff and she could see the Red Woman, beautiful and red and terrible, her hair and robes blowing in the winds coming off the sea and the fire roaring behind her. Her hands were raised, a torch in her left, while her right was closed around a small object. Off to the sides, in the shadows, but still close, were half a dozen guards. And there, to the right of the fire was Gendry, bound tightly to a stake, the pyre already built around it, his head lolling against his shoulder. 

She could feel the rage bubble up in her chest and for a moment fury left her mind in a haze of bloodthirst. Had that witch come back here after all this time to burn him? Arya knew what she had done for Jon. It had even dissuaded her from wanting to kill the Red Woman, but decisions could be altered. She took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back, allowing the calm determination to take over. Lady Melisandre had just earned her place back onto the list, but her name would not remain there for long.

When she heard her companions behind her, she expected Brienne's gasp and the Hound's stumbling retreat at the sight before them, but Ser Davos astonished her. He shot forward with surprising strength and speed for a man of his age, bellowing over the thundering fire. "Foolish woman! Evil soul! Have you learned nothing?"

The guards loomed out of the shadows and Brienne started to charge, but the Red Woman held out a hand and smiled. "But I have, Ser Davos. I've seen the light now!"

Brienne's eyes flickered from Melisandre to the guards and back to Davos who hissed: "Have you? Have you forgotten what happened the last time you burned an innocent?"

She tilted her head and blinked at him slowly. "Indeed I have not. That is why I need to do this."

Davos forced out a humourless laugh. "How can you say that? Killing Shireen was pointless! Stannis lost!"

Melisandre shook her head, her smile still fixed upon her lips. "It's true, I was blind. I did not understand the Lord's purpose, but sacrificing Shireen was the right thing to do."

"The right thing?"

"Think about it, Ser Davos. Only death can pay for life. Shireen's death, the magic of the kingsblood flowing through her veins, is what gave me the power to bring back Jon Snow. He is the rightful King, the one to lead us through the Long Night. So, yes, it was the right thing to do. I know you have a gentle heart, Ser Davos, but I must do what needs to be done to rid the realm of all these false usurpers."

Davos clenched his jaw as he shook his head. "By killing Gendry?"

The Red Woman took a few lazy steps in his direction. "The sacrifice is necessary, I'm afraid, but I have something more powerful: a King's blood, more potent than any other I've used before. It's warm, even though it was thick and frozen when I extracted it from his body."

She opened her fist, revealing a small vial containing a liquid so dark it was almost black, but still gleamed red in the light of the fire. "You stole Jon's blood!"

She turned her head slowly, releasing a patient sigh, but faltered when her eyes met Arya's. She flinched and lifted a shaking finger, her voice far from steady now. "You! What has happened to your face?"

Arya frowned at her. She wasn't wearing another face. She was Arya Stark now. She looked into Melisandre's eyes and saw fear.  _Good._ "Let Gendry go and I'll consider sparing your life!"

She threw back her head and laughed. If Arya hadn't known what this woman was capable of, she might have called the sound delightful. "You foolish girl! Your ignorance has led you down a path of darkness! Can't you see you're serving Him now?"

"Do you mean Him of Many Faces? No, I only serve my family now."

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, until Arya screamed: "Save Gendry!" and Melisandre commanded: "Seize them!"

Melisandre turned around, marching slowly toward the pyre as Arya and her companions were surrounded by her guards. Even though they outnumbered them, none of the Red Woman's men were a match for either Brienne or the Hound. Even Ser Davos fought with such a violent passion, fueled by his rage, that his opponent would quickly succumb. Arya crouched into a ball and rolled between her attacker's legs, easily finding her footing again. She whirled around as she hurled out her dagger, cutting into the back of the large man's knees. He crashed to the ground with a cry of agony.

She turned around and focused on her target. The Red Woman was too close to the pyre. Gendry was trying to open his eyes. Arya leapt and grabbed Melisandre's shoulder, jerking her around and forcing her to the ground. She dropped the torch, but clutched the vial with Jon's blood to her breast. Arya straddled her hips and collected her wrists in her hand, holding her down. She did not anticipate the woman's reaction. Instead of struggling to fight off her attacker, as most people would do, she simply bended her knees and planted her feet on the ground to thrust her hips up. Arya was thrown onto her back and saw Melisandre kneeling between her thighs. The dagger had flown from Arya's hand in the skirmish.

The Red Woman reached into her sleeve and blew on her hand, filling the air with a pitch-black smoke. Arya bared her teeth in a feral smile and pushed herself to her feet. She unsheathed Dark Sister and closed her eyes. She turned to her side, as Syrio had taught her, and plunged her blade right into Melisandre's heart. The smoke dissolved and the Red Priestess seemed to shrink, all the colour draining from her hair, skin and clothes until she was reduced to a wrinkled heap of grey. "No," she whispered in a creaky voice, "it wasn't supposed to be you."

Melisandre of Asshai's eyes fluttered closed and she collapsed onto her side, still clasping the vial in her hand. Arya pulled Dark Sister out of her chest. There was hardly any blood. She was startled by a faint murmur: "My Lady..."

She looked up to find Gendry smiling at her. She could only stare back, her mouth hanging open.


	62. Chapter 62

Sansa had seen the dragon from afar. Jon had told her about the first time he'd ridden it. She knew he'd flown all the way back to Winterfell from King's Landing. Still, hearing about it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. The dragon was magnificent. It was not only enormous and fearsome, it - _sh_ _e_  was beautiful. Her scales gleamed like jewels in the late afternoon sun. The green ones were the colour of the moss that had covered the trees and rocks in the Godswood during the summer. The bronze ones were just a shade darker than her strangely liquid eyes, which shone like molten copper.

And Jon sat mounted on her neck as if he belonged there. She'd seen him on the weirwood throne, overlooking the Great Hall, looking like the King he was, even if she knew how uncomfortable he was in that role. She'd watched him in the training yard, moving as if swordfighting was an elegant dance he was rehearsing for. She knew she might be biased, but she thought he was easily the most handsome man in the North. But seeing him perched on the back of his dragon, his curls blowing in the wind, his eyes hard and determined, made her heart skip a beat and her breath catch in her throat.

She watched him as he flew away, dazed and half-wondering if she was awake. This felt more like a dream or something she'd once heard in a a song than anything that would ever happen in her own life. She glanced down to the battlements, where it seemed all of Winterfell's residents and guests had gathered to watch the spectacle.  _We won't have much explaining to do after this._ They could use this to their advantage. No one in the North would doubt Jaime Lannister's intentions in coming to Winterfell on a dragon. And no one would be able to turn on the hero who had saved them all.

Sansa sighed. The Kingslayer was a fool. What was he hoping to achieve? He must know about Jon and Rhaegal... Why else would he have come here? And how was he able to control that dragon? Jon had said that Rhaegal approaching him was what had revealed Daenerys' attempts to hide his true identity. The dragons could sense Valyrian blood and were drawn to it. She wondered whether that meant Jaime Lannister had Valyrian blood as well. How was that possible? Perhaps there was another explanation.

She had to make herself look away from the fighting dragons. The longer she looked, the more she feared things might end badly for Jon. They were too far off to really see exactly what was happening, but the one time she allowed herself a quick peek through the spyglass she saw the pale dragon breathe fire at Jon and Rhaegal and she pulled away with a gasp.  _No. He'll come back. He promised._ The guards were murmuring in low voices, but her mind was too occupied to focus on what they were saying. Bran's eyes were white, staring into distances she couldn't reach and Meera was standing by his side, as still as a statue, her eyes widened in a mix of fear and awe.

She turned her back to them, risking another glance at the dragons dancing in the sky. One of the dragons froze in mid-air and tumbled down. Sansa's hand flew toward her throat. She thought it was the pale one she saw spiralling toward the ground, but the sun had begun to set, making it hard to be certain.

She whirled around, collecting her skirts. She ignored Bran calling her name as she threw open the door to the winding staircase. She had to grip the wall for support twice. Her bump, still small and invisible under her heavy gown, was beginning to affect her balance. When she reached the courtyard, she started hollering commands. "Ready my horse! I need a dozen men! Tormund!"

After she'd caught sight of the Wildling, she noticed Meera running for the stables, yelling over her shoulder: "I'll come with you, Your Grace!"

Sansa nodded, bending over and holding a hand to her side. Her stomach churned.  _No. I thought it was over._ She braced her other hand against the wall. It seemed to last for ages. She felt as if she was vomiting out all of her insides. She only realized when it was over, that someone was rubbing her arm and holding her hair back. She pulled out her handkerchief to wipe her mouth.

Tormund was holding out a flask. She eyed it warily, scrunching her nose. He chuckled. "Don't worry, love, it's only water."

She sipped carefully and swirled the water around in her mouth. She spat it out, gratefully Tormund was the only one around paying her any attention. She offered the flask back to him, but he didn't reach for it. He just stood there, eyeing her belly. "How far along are ya now? Four, five months?"

Her mouth fell open. "Um, yes, that's about right."

He only shrugged. "Just thought ya'd be showing by now."

He accepted the flask and helped her mount her horse. He swung into his own saddle and grinned at her, wiggling his eyebrows. "Come on then! Let's go and get your man back!"

Sansa stared at him. "How did you know?"

Tormund snorted. "Unlike most of you kneelers, I'm not blind. And I've always known ya were his type... Kissed by fire."

The gates were opened and they rode out, Tormund leading along Jon's horse, Wiley. After about half an hour they reached the fallen dragon. Rhaegal was nowhere to be seen. "Where is Jon?"

Meera swung down from her horse. "I don't know, Your Grace."

Tormund jumped down as well while Meera walked around the dragon, inspecting the ground. The snow around it had melted away. Sansa's eyes fell on a motionless body lying about ten feet from the beast. Tormund kicked him in the back, rolling him over. It was Jaime Lannister. "This one's in bad shape," he commented, "but still breathing."

Sansa allowed him to help her dismount and whispered: "What about the dragon?"

The group of guards who'd joined them were keeping their distance. Tormund stood admiring the beast, letting his eyes trail from its head to the point of its tail. "He's dead alright. The horses wouldn't come this close if he wasn't."

Meera pointed to the dragons's head, walking toward it. "I don't think he could have survived that."

Sansa followed them and saw what she meant. Longclaw was sticking out from one of the dragon's eyes, only the hilt still visible. "The eyes must be their weak point," Tormund mused, "It's the same with giants. You can poke 'em full o' holes, but one good hit in the eye and they're gone."

Meera moved closer and gripped Jon's sword with both hands to pull it out of the dragon's eye. More than half of the blade had melted away and what was left of it was contorted and smoking. Meera dropped it. Sansa felt the tears brimming her eyes. She knew how much Longclaw meant to Jon.  _Where is he?_

She knelt in the snow, studying the dragon. His golden scales looked a little dull. She didn't know whether it was the lack of sunlight or his death that had caused this. His soft creamy colour reminded her of a favourite gown she'd had as a child. She thought Arya had ruined it by spilling something on it.  _Such beauty,_ she thought,  _such a waste._

She was alerted by the guards' shouts. Jon was approaching slowly, dragging along a bundle of twigs and branches, bound together by leather straps. She pushed herself to her feet to run to him. She stopped short, clasping her hand over her mouth when she caught sight of his face. The curls above his right temple had burned away and there was an ugly wound above his right eyebrow. But what held her back, was the look in his eyes. 

At first she thought they looked hollow and full of fear, the way they had when she'd been trying to convince him to fight for Winterfell. But there was a gleam in them she was sure she'd never seen before. "Jon," she whispered. He glanced up, barely recognizing her. "We have to burn him," he announced in a flat voice.

When he'd reached the dead dragon, he started untying the straps around his bundle. He picked up a couple of branches and put them next to Viserion's head. He turned back to collect more wood. "Jon! You can let someone else do it. We need to get you to the Maester. You're hurt!"

He didn't respond. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Jon!"

He spun around, rage visible on his face. "No! It has to be me!"

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, but he shook her off. She almost lost her footing on the slippery grass. Meera caught her under her arms and Tormund leapt forward. "Hey!" he shouted, as he shoved Jon to the ground. Sansa stared at him in shock. He blinked slowly and looked at her as if he hadn't really seen her until that moment. Horror grew in his eyes as realization of what he'd almost done dawned on him.

Sansa glanced up. They were shielded from the guards by the dragon's corpse, but she couldn't let them see him like this. She walked around the beast to address them. "We're going to stay here to burn the dragon," she announced. She pointed to Jaime Lannister. "Take him back to Winterfell. I don't want anyone to touch him. Let the Maester have a look at him to assess his condition. We have to make sure he lives just long enough so we can serve him justice!"

The men nodded. A couple of them grunted, but others cheered. She watched them riding off, taking deep breaths to steady herself. Part of her wanted to run back to Jon, but another part was too scared of what she might see when she looked at him. When the guards were well on their way, she circled the dragon slowly.

Jon was still on his knees, his eyes unfocused, until he caught sight of her. He lifted a hand, as if he was trying to reach out to her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept repeating. "I didn't mean to. I know I killed him, Rhaegal, but I didn't mean to."

He collapsed, burying his face in his hands. His fingers started pulling at his hair and he veered up, throwing his head back. The noise that escaped from his mouth sounded like the wail of a wounded animal.


	63. Chapter 63

Sansa squeezed Jon's hand and called out his name again, aware that her voice grew weaker and trembled more every time she tried. They'd managed to get him safe inside the walls of Winterfell. He hadn't needed any assistance riding or walking. He'd even raised a reluctant hand to the cheering crowd that had gathered in the courtyard.

When she'd led him back to his chambers, he'd collapsed on the chest at the foot of his bed where he sat staring at his hands. He'd been sitting there for half an hour and Sansa couldn't get any response out of him. Her eyes kept flickering to the burn on his face. That wound needed to be cleaned and dressed, but she couldn't allow anyone to witness the King in his current state.

He could stay in his room for a couple of days. She would claim that he'd been wounded during the fight and that he needed his rest to recover. She could keep it up for a week, perhaps even longer, but not long enough for people to start worrying. Still, Maester Barth would insist on seeing him. She might feign complete distrust after his confession, but she'd have no reason to refuse the Karstark maester.

She risked another glance at Jon's face and felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She should be more worried about  _him,_ not about Jon the King, but she was afraid. Analysing the situation, anticipating possible courses of action distracted her from her more pressing qualms. It soothed her. 

Seeing Jon so far withdrawn within himself that she didn't seem able to reach him terrified her. It made her feel powerless, inadequate.  _Perhaps Arya would know what to do._ She considered calling someone to get Bran, but she didn't feel comfortable leaving Jon alone, not even for a couple of moments.

She perched herself on his knee and framed his face with her hands. His arm came up automatically to support her back. The warmth of his palm between her shoulder blades felt oddly out of place, but it encouraged her nonetheless. "Jon," she whispered, swallowing a sob, waiting until he finally met her eyes, "please, talk to me."

He stared at her for a moment. "I can't."

She pressed her lips to his cheek and to his mouth, letting him taste her tears. "Please, let me help you."

He averted his eyes and pulled away from her touch. She let her fingers hover over his temple. "You're hurt. You should..."

He shook his head and tried to push her away. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, turning to straddle his lap so he couldn't get up. She pressed herself closer and tried to kiss him again, desperate to show him her affection. To her surprise, he snorted. His face was cold.

"What are you doing, Sansa? Are you trying to distract me? It's not helping."

This time she did allow him to remove her from his lap, pushing both of them to their feet. She gaped at him. "What do you mean?"

He blinked. "I'm sure you mean well. Being inside my sister's cunt would be the sweetest comfort, but right now it's just another reminder of what I am."

Sansa stepped back in shock. Jon glanced up, taking in the look on her face and his expression softened. "I'm sorry. I do love you, Sansa. I love you so much, but I shouldn't be here. When Daenerys finds out what I did... Every minute I spend here is putting you and everyone else here in danger. I need to leave."

"No!"

She could hear the crack in her own voice. Jon's head drooped. "I don't want to," he whispered, "but I have to."

She grabbed his arms roughly, digging her nails into the thick fabric of his surcoat. "No! You can't leave me!"

He offered her a small smile and shook his head, lifting his hands to smooth her hair back from her face. "No, no, I'm not leaving you... I'm protecting you!"

She took a deep breath. The movement pressed a cold object to her breast. _That vial Arya gave me._ She met his eyes with an icy glare. "No," she bit at him through clenched teeth, "I won't let you. Have you considered for a moment that she might not care whether you're still here? That she might think destroying Winterfell or hurting me is a better way to punish you than just killing you?"

His hands dropped from her face and he opened his mouth and closed it again. He paced back and forth for a couple of minutes before sinking down onto the bed. He had that tortured look in his eyes again. The lump in Sansa's throat had grown large enough to fill her entire chest, twisting all of her guts into painful knots.

He shook his head. "You're right. I can't protect you. I can't protect anyone."

She hurried to his side and took his hands "Jon, of course you can! You did, you just saved us all!"

He met her eyes, an incredulous look in his own. "Did I?"

Arya's voice resounded inside her head.  _"It doesn't do any harm, unless they fall the wrong way."_

She released one of his hands. "Yes, you did! What do you think would have happened if you hadn't stopped Jaime Lannister?"

He shrugged. "I killed Viserion. I burned all those people. It's what I do. I kill. I destroy."

_"It just knocks them out for a couple of hours."_

Jon sighed and pulled back his other hand. "And you know why? Because I'm a Targaryen. I'm not a Stark. I never was. I'm no good for anyone. I shouldn't be here."

Sansa reached into her bodice, pulling out the vial. She popped out the stopper with her thumb, closing it over the opening. "I may not be able to protect you, but the least I can do is try."

He looked up defiantly, probably expecting her to argue with him. "I'm sorry, Jon, but you're not thinking clearly. So right now,  _I_ need to protect  _you._ "

He frowned at her and his lips parted in surprise when she brought her fist to his face. She lifted her thumb. "What..." he started asking, but before he could finish his question, his face slackened and he collapsed back onto the bed. Sansa closed her eyes.  _Please, forgive me, Jon._

 

 


	64. Chapter 64

Dany glanced around the luxuriously decorated room. Everything in it was green or gold. Tapestries depicting the history of Highgarden covered all the walls. Stained glass windows showing idyllic scenes were scattered over two of those walls and on the floor was a thick carpet. The table she was seated at was ornately carved and gilded, as were the abundantly cushioned chairs. "Admiring the solar, Your Grace?"

She looked at the tiny old lady across the table. "It's impressive, My Lady."

"Please," Lady Olenna scoffed, "I'm too old for false pleasantries. It's hideous and we both know it."

Dany shifted in her seat. "I- um- it's..."

"It's my son Mace who decorated the room. He was an oaf and as you can see, his tastes were dubitable, but he was still my son. I can't bring myself to change it. And I'm glad the Lannisters only destroyed the outer tiers of the castle."

Dany inclined her head. "Lady Olenna, I want to thank you for receiving me."

The old lady cut in: "And I am grateful to you for coming to our aid. But I suppose you'll want something in return now? You wish to share in our bounties to feed your armies, Queen Daenerys Targaryen?"

She squared her shoulders. "Not my armies, but my people. The people of King's Landing."

Olenna Tyrell tilted her head back. "That's quite an odd strategy. You wish to support the Lannisters now by feeding the inhabitants of the capital?"

Dany narrowed her eyes. "Of course not. King's Landing will be mine soon."

The other woman huffed. "Will it, girl?"

Dany clenched her jaw, her nostrils flaring. "Girl? I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, My Lady!"

Lady Olenna leaned forward and folded her hands, smiling at her. "Are you? Dorne and the Iron Islands are caught up in a civil war. The North already has a King. They've found a powerful ally in the Vale and I wouldn't be surprised if the Riverlands chose their side again as well. The Lannisters still control the Westerlands and King's Landing... It's true, you hold Dragonstone and you have your little Baratheon puppet in the Stormlands..."

Dany jutted her chin out. "And what about the Reach, My Lady?"

"We will honour our alliance. There is no need to worry about that.  But one has to wonder what exactly you are the Queen of, Your Grace.

"I realize my conquest has only begun, and I admit there are complications. But the Iron Throne is mine by right of birth and I  _will_ reign over the Seven Kingdoms one day. And I expect that day to come soon enough."

"Perhaps it will... But _today_  I have some unfortunate news for you. I received an interesting letter from Cersei Lannister shortly before your arrival. It appears she's made a prisoner of your Lord Hand."

 _Tyrion? No!_ He'd told her about Cersei. Dany knew what kind of woman his sister was. If he was truly in her power, he might be dead by now. _Or worse._

Olenna sat nodding, studying Dany's face. "I heard you'd grown quite fond of the little Imp," she mused, "but I'm afraid there's more. Those horselords you brought with you are wreaking havoc on the towns and villages around King's Landing. I don't think  _your people_ will be pleased about that."

Dany sighed. The Dothraki were one of her greatest assets, but part of her had known they might be a liability.  _The Dothraki are what they are._ But they could be controlled by a strong leader. It didn't make any sense for them to be raiding and pillaging. Jon Snow would not allow that. She frowned at Olenna. "I don't understand. They respect Jon Snow. I was confident he would be able to keep them under control."

The old lady smirked. "Ah yes, Jon Snow. That part of Cersei's story is what intrigued me the most. I haven't told you how she managed to capture Lord Tyrion. Apparently the Lannister woman had agreed to negotiate with him and Snow. Do you know what happened? It appears she must have said something to upset the poor Bastard King.. He flew away on one of your dragons, burning half the City Watch and the Red Keep. No one has seen him since."

"I don't believe it. Cersei must be lying!"

"In my experience, the more incredible the story, the more likely that it is true. Why would Cersei spin us such a fantastical tale?"

 _I don't know, but it must be a lie._ Jon Snow wouldn't attack the capital without her leave. If it was true, he'd broken his promise and abandoned her and worse, he'd stolen Rhaegal from her. If it was true, he'd betrayed her and she'd repay him with fire and blood.  _Rhaegal and Viserion, my poor children._ "Was there any news of my other dragon?"

She nodded. "Jaime Lannister has taken it North to attack Winterfell."

 _Winterfell, of course._ Jon Snow must have returned home, to his people and his sister.  _And to his lover,_ a small voice in her head whispered. It shouldn't matter. She shouldn't feel jealous after what he'd done to her.

And Jaime Lannister was on his way there as well. That meant the two men might make Rhaegal and Viserion fight each other. The Kingslayer had needed to use force and pain to control Viserion. _He shouldn't have been able to do that at all._  If he commanded him to attack his sister, he would never obey.

 _But what about Rhaegal?_ Surely her bond with Jon couldn't be stronger than her bond with her brothers.  _I can't think about it right now._

"That does seem quite troublesome, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"But as I told you, I found it a very intriguing tale," Lady Olenna reminded her. "It has left me with a lot of questions and the most pressing one is: how is Ned Stark's bastard able to control a dragon?"

Dany closed her eyes. She should have expected the question. She'd have to tell the Tyrell woman the truth now. There was no other choice. "Because he isn't Ned Stark's bastard. He's my brother Rhaegar's son by Lyanna Stark."

To Dany's surprise, Olenna started laughing. It wasn't a chuckle or a small giggle, but a loud and elated guffaw. She wiped her eyes. "Oh, I suppose it all makes sense now."

She narrowed her eyes at Dany. "Rhaegar's son? Not his bastard?"

Dany hesitated. "My brother married the Stark girl, but I believe it doesn't matter. He was already wed to Elia Martell."

"Fair enough," Olenna conceded, "but still... If House Targaryen were to be restored to the Iron Throne, some might still prefer Rhaegar's son over his sister, even if that son is a bastard. The Northerners seemed to be able to overlook his status when they made him their King. They might feel different about that once the truth comes out, but on the other hand... If he's smart, he could consolidate his reign, perhaps even bind the Riverlands, possibly the Vale to him permanently."

The old woman thought she was a fool. As if she didn't know Jon Snow was a liability. "He wasn't supposed to find out," she admitted, "I was planning on keeping it a secret until after I'd married him... But he was unwilling..."

"Was he now?"

She shrugged. "He was setting impossible conditions. He wanted the North to keep its independence, with Sansa Stark as its Queen."

Lady Olenna barked out another laugh. "So he was willing to give up his kingship in favour of his sister? Or cousin, I suppose? And I thought I'd lived long enough to know I'd never meet a truly sensible man!"

Dany glared at the woman. "If what you're saying is true, Jon Snow is not a sensible man at all!"

She raised her eyebrows. "And if he's not? Does that mean we can expect another Dance of the Dragons?"

"And if it came to that, which side would you choose, Lady Olenna?"

She offered Dany a smile and inclined her head. "The right side of course, Your Grace."


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to recover after his breakdown...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break on this one... Real life and other fics got in the way and... I'd been posting new chapters for this story at such a high pace, I sort of felt like I'd hit a wall...
> 
> I haven't lost my interest and I still know where I'm going with it, but writing the individual chapters had become a bit of a chore. Anyway, it's back and I'm going to try to stick to a once-a-week posting schedule. I think I'll need about 10 more chapters to get to the point where I'd like to finish it.
> 
> After that, there will be a second story in this verse, dealing with the consequences of the actions of the 3 dragons and the War for the Dawn, in which the magical aspect is going to have a more prominent role.

"Jon..." 

Sansa's voice was soft and cautious. He paused. "Where are you going?"

He sighed, clenching his fists and pursing his lips, and decided to head for the door. "Jon, please!"

Slowly he turned around. "Sansa, not now. I need time."

Her face appeared cold, but he could see the slight twitch of her lips and the panic in her eyes. "Time for what? Are you thinking about leaving again?"

He stared at her.  _I can't. I really can't._ "Why are you asking? So you can knock me out cold again if I am?"

Her face fell and her mouth and chin startled trembling. "I'm sorry, Jon," she choked out, "I told you I was sorry."

 _I know. And I understand, but I can't. Not now._ He couldn't meet her eyes. "Perhaps it's time for you to start letting me make my own decisions, Sansa."

"Oh," she huffed incredulously, "and what decision might that be? The decision to leave me? You promised, Jon, you promised!"

He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to clasp his hands over his ears like a child.  _Please don't._ "And what about our son? If you leave now, how am I supposed to explain to our bannermen? How do you suppose I convince them that we are married? That the child is yours?"

His head was spinning and her words were starting to blur together. "You understand what that means for him, don't you? You know what you'd be doing to him?"

He turned his back to her.  _Please don't say it._ "Would you turn your own child into a bastard?"

Jon took the last five steps to the door and left Sansa in their room. It seemed he was always walking away from her these days, when he should be staying by her side, but he couldn't be around people right now, not even her. He knew he must have scared her, but he couldn't explain.

It had been over a year since she'd come to him at Castle Black and all that time he'd just kept on going, surviving, pretending everything he'd been through didn't matter. He'd die again soon enough anyway. But now... Now he could see a life before him, which meant he had to deal with everything.

The truth about his parents, the Southron mind games, all those people who'd died screaming because of him, and then Viserion... Being inside Rhaegal's mind when that happened had been the last straw. Everything had come crashing down on him. He needed to be strong, for Sansa, for their son, for Bran and Arya and all the people who were counting on him, but he couldn't.

 _I just want... I just need..._ He didn't know what exactly he wanted or needed. He'd been sleeping most of the time for a couple of days and his body didn't feel so tired anymore, but it didn't make much of a difference. He couldn't remember when he hadn't felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. How could any man carry that by himself?

 _You know nothing, Jon Snow. You don't need to do it alone, but you keep pushing her away._ Sansa wasn't making it easy for him though. Her words and actions were so confusing these days. He wanted to reach out and talk to her, but he didn't know how. He glanced up. His feet had carried him to the Godswood. He could feel a presence, a heat. _Rhaegal._

She was curled up next to one of the hot springs, head tucked under one of her wings. He didn't know whether it was wise for him to approach her right now, but they were both here, so he might as well try it. He didn't need to announce himself, she'd sense him there soon enough. Her head appeared from under her wing and she blinked at him, before laying her head down again.

He closed his eyes and reached out tentatively. To his surprise she let him in on the first try. She was thinking about Viserion again, reliving memories. Strangely enough a lot of those memories involved the two of them fighting, but Rhaegal thought fondly of those moments. She was trying to push back flashes of their final fight, but the pain was bleeding into all of the other images.

The rage was still there at the edge of her mind, but Jon didn't have the impression it was directed at him. He could also sense another emotion he was unable to identify. Rhaegal tried to respond to his confusion, everything blurring as she searched for a way to explain.

Suddenly he saw himself inside her mind and Sansa was there too. The scene shifted to Rhaegal closing her teeth around Viserion's throat and then back to Jon and Sansa. Suddenly there was a dagger in his hands and he watched himself lunge forward and stab Sansa again and again and again.

He broke the mental connection, retreating to his own mind in horror. Rhaegal unfolded her wings and took off, leaving him alone. He was on his knees again, trying to control his ragged breathing. He attempted to push what he'd just witnessed from his mind, wishing and praying he'd never seen it, but he understood now. Rhaegal blamed herself for Viserion's death and it was the worst pain she'd ever felt.

He forced himself to his feet again and resumed his wanderings. The cold and the loneliness felt nice, but he would have liked it better if it had been night and he could have been certain that he was truly alone. He came across the Heart Tree.  _Has it only been weeks?_ Right now it felt as if it could have been a lifetime ago. Sansa had looked so lovely in the moonlight, her cheeks flushed by the cold and her hair flowing down over her shoulders.

The memory brought a smile to his face, if only for a moment. He felt so far away from the rest of the world now, as if it was only a dream or an illusion. Or perhaps he was the illusion. He sank down on the large rock close to the Heart Tree, watching a light flurry of snow come down.

He angled his head up so he could feel it melt on his face.  _Do I still belong here?_ The answer came to him in the form of Ghost trotting up to him. He pressed his muzzle into Jon's chest, who wrapped his arms around his wolf's neck. "I've missed you, boy. Where have you been?"

He pulled back to look into his red eyes, wondering. He'd never done it when he was awake, but if he could do it with Rhaegal, it should work with Ghost as well.

As soon as he slipped into the direwolf's skin, relief washed over him. The pain hadn't disappeared completely, but it was almost gone, only a slight awareness in the back of his mind. He felt the excitement in Ghost's muscles, the desire to run, so that's what he did.

It was exhilirating, almost as good as flying. He felt free. Part of him was tempted to stay there forever, but he was only part wolf.  _I'm Jon,_  he had to remind himself after a couple of hours.When he'd returned to his own body, he felt significantly lighter.

Tormund was there next to him, waiting with a flask of sour goat's milk in his hands. "Ha! He's back! Good thing I've seen that before, or it woulda scared the shit out o' me!"

Jon's lips managed to curl into a small half-smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Yer  _Queen_ ," he answered, throwing Jon a meaningful look, "has sent me looking for ya."

He raised an eyebrow. "And since when are you doing a kneeler queen's bidding, Tormund Giantsbane?"

He shrugged, grunting. "She can be scary, yer woman. And I like her."

He stretched his legs, shaking his head. He shouldn't be surprised that Tormund knew. In fact, he'd come to that same conclusion, wrong at the time, right after Sansa had arrived at Castle Black.  _"Lucky bastard,"_ he'd exclaimed after Jon had escorted Sansa to his chambers so she could eat and bathe.  _"Barely back among the living and ya have a pretty lass throwing herself into yer arms like that!"_

He'd tried to explain to Tormund that Sansa was his sister, but the man hadn't been easy to convince. "Turns out she's not my sister after all."

Tormund grunted vaguely. He took a swig of goat's milk and offered the flask to Jon. He waited for him to drink as well, before commenting. "She seemed upset."

Jon wiped his mouth, handing the flask back to Tormund, who drank deeply. "I guess she would be."

"Get into a fight?"

"Aye, something like that. I don't know," he said, uncomfortable to share more. Tormund nodded. "Quite common when a woman's with child."

Jon jerked his chin up. "What?"

Tormund laughed, shaking his head. "Nothin' ya can do about it," he explained, giving the goat's milk back to Jon. "Avoiding her might work, but chances are she'll be even more pissed off when she sees y'again."

He sat blinking at the other man, who continued: "What ya could try the next time she loses it, is just grab her and kiss her. Women are like that when they have a babe in the belly, can't get enough of it."

He paused to look at Jon's shocked face and guffawed. "Course, that's assuming ya can satisfy her with that small pecker of yers!"

 _She's quite happy with my pecker,_ he thought, punching Tormund in the ribs, but perhaps he shouldn't tell the Wildling that. He might repeat it in front of other people. "I'll take your advice into consideration," he quipped.

When he returned to his chambers, Sansa was sitting in the middle of the bed, eyes red and puffy. He climbed on to sit next to her and draped a tentative arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his touch. He sighed. "I'm not going anywhere."

He felt her nod into his chest, before she rearranged her head to nuzzle her face into his neck Her voice came out muffled and warm against his skin. "I know you're not well, Jon, but I'm not sure if I can do this right now, having you pull away like that all the time."

He pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head and placing a hand over her belly. "I'm trying, Sansa, I swear I'm trying."

"I know," she whispered. Suddenly, he felt a flutter against his hand, so light he might have thought he'd imagined it, if he hadn't felt it again the next moment. Sansa gasped. "Did you feel that, Jon?"

She sat up straight and covered his hand with her own, eyes widening and lips parted. There it was again. "I did," he answered, blinking in awe. She turned her face to him. "It's the babe, Jon!"

"It is?" he asked in a low voice, afraid speaking too loudly might make it stop. She nodded, beaming at him. He felt his face spread into a grin. A couple of tears escaped from Sansa's eyes as they both felt it again and laughed.  _This is really happening, Snow, you need to pull yourself together._

 


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd be able to post a new chapter this soon, but it's ready, so here you go!
> 
>  
> 
> The last scene in this chapter contains a brief and vague flashback to Sansa's wedding night with Ramsay.

Sansa leant back against Jon's chest, surprised by the tension she could feel in his body. Perhaps they should have waited a little longer with the announcement, but Lyanna Mormont had arrived in Winterfell days ago. Sansa hadn't wanted to keep the Lords waiting any longer. "Relax, Jon," she told him, "it went well."

"Better than I expected," he answered, his voice strained. She closed her eyes, trying to enjoy the feeling of soaking in warm water and Jon's closeness. It was Bran who had revealed the truth about Jon's parentage to their bannermen. Everyone present knew what had happened when Jaime Lannister had tried to attack Winterfell, but he'd started by repeating the tale for the benefit of those who hadn't witnessed it with their own eyes and to remind all the others of Jon's heroics and his dedication to the North and House Stark. Sansa had held Jon's hand under the table the entire time and when Bran had finished, cheers had erupted throughout the Great Hall.

After that he'd focused on Jon's ability to control a dragon, cautiously but firmly leading his audience to the logical explanation. He and Sansa had gone over his speech again and again the night before, preparing answers for any possible questions and objections. Surprisingly, the Northern Lords had taken the news quite well. Only a few of them had been openly hostile. Lady Dustin had declared the whole situation preposterous and left the Hall. Leobard Tallhart had sneered that House Stark was truly dead, with nothing left but a halfwit cripple and a Southron whore. She'd had to squeeze Jon's hand tightly to restrain him after that.

Lord Cerwyn had tentatively questioned Jon's right to the Northern Throne, suggesting the crown should be Sansa's, given Bran's condition. She'd hardly been able to keep herself from rolling her eyes at his statement. She suspected he could already see that crown on his own head. Cerwyn wasn't exactly the scheming type, but he was eager to grasp any opportunity to gain more power. Lady Mormont and Larence Snow - Lord Hornwood now, she had to remind herself- had quickly shut down his objections and once again Winterfell's Great Hall had been filled with the sound of voices chanting  _"The King in the North!"_

"The Northerners have more in common with the Free Folk than they care to admit, I believe," she mused. "I knew they wouldn't abandon you. They love you, they follow you because they believe in you. They know what you've done for them. You are a true Northman, Jon, a Stark."

He draped his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her belly. "At least half of all the things they praised me for were just as much, if not entirely, your achievements."

She sighed, covering his hands with her own. He was right, and once she would have resented him for it, but she knew there was nothing she could do to change that.  _I'll make them love me as well. It'll take time, but I will._ "And they forgot about that the moment you arrived back in Winterfell, all because I'm a woman."

He kissed her shoulder. "It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Jon. Haven't we learned that the hard way?"

"Aye," he chuckled darkly, caressing her bump, "we have."

The news of their marriage had been met by an uneasy silence. Bran had pointed out the wisdom of avoiding any possible future rival claims through Jon and Sansa's union. They'd anticipated their bannermen questioning the hurried and private way in which the ceremony had taken place. Daenerys Targaryen's deception and threats had seemed a plausible enough explanation for most of them and the rest of them had forgotten any feelings of indignation at the revelation of Littlefinger's crimes and schemes. Still the tension in the room had been palpable until Lady Karstark had risen to her feet to congratulate them. The others had joined in reluctantly.

"You know what surprised me the most?" Jon asked suddenly. "The fact that I'm not Ned Stark's son didn't seem to bother Lady Mormont, but the fact that I've married you did?"

"Well, I don't think she ever particularly liked me and the other reason is quite obvious," she answered, feeling his hands freeze on her belly. "I'm afraid you've lost me now."

Sansa giggled, seeing the confused frown on Jon's face without having to turn her head.  _Oh you sweet innocent man,_ she thought. "Oh, I just suppose it's not unimaginable Lady Mormont might have hoped to marry you herself one day."

She could hear his sharp intake of breath. "Are you saying she's in love with me?"

"Quite possibly, yes."

"Sansa, she's ten years old!"

She shook her head. "Eleven, actually, almost twelve, not that much younger than I was when I fancied myself in love with Joffrey."

"Are you comparing me to that sick-"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "What I'm trying to say is... I realize now that it was nothing more than a childish infatuation, but at the time I was so convinced of the depth and sincerity of my love. So I can relate to how she might be feeling."

Jon's only answer was a faint grunt. She angled her head to see his face. "What are you thinking about?"

"Joffrey."

 _Oh._ He sighed. "I was thinking about the welcoming feast for Robert Baratheon. Of course, your mother wouldn't let me join the rest of you, afraid as she was to insult the royal family, but I saw you walking in on his arm. You looked radiant that night, already so beautiful, but him... All I could think when I saw him leading you inside was that I didn't like him. I didn't like the look on his face. I knew something was wrong with him. I wish I would have told someone, perhaps..."

She tried to ignore the sneer at her Lady Mother "It wouldn't have mattered, Jon..."

She buried her face in his neck.  _You looked radiant. I didn't like him._ She could be wrong, but somehow it actually sounded as if Jon had been jealous. She found the idea oddly satisfying, but decided not to linger on it. "I've been thinking about that feast as well lately," she whispered into his skin. "I can't help but wonder if you might be wrong, about my Mother. Perhaps it was Father who didn't want you there, so close to Robert. He might have noticed how much you looked like Lyanna."

Jon helped her turn around until she was straddling his lap. Her hands came to rest on his chest. "I guess we'll never know... Enough talk for now," he announced, picking up a stone jug from the floor next to the tub. He filled it with water and poured it over her head, smoothing her hair back with his other hand. He was careful, but she still had to blink back some of the water trickling into her eyes. When she opened them, she could see the change in his face. There was heat in his eyes when he licked his lips and whispered: "Even lovelier than I imagined."

Sansa quickly caught on to his mood, bracing one hand on his shoulder and snaking the other between their bodies to position him at her entrance. "Sansa," he gasped as his tip brushed over her lower lips, "are you ready?"

"I'm always ready for you," she sighed as she felt him stretching her open pleasantly. It had been almost two weeks since he'd been inside her and it felt impossibly good to have him there again. He had to lean back to give her space to move, her bump now really getting in the way.

She made her hips undulate slowly, relishing in the feeling of gliding up and down his entire length. Jon cupped her cheek and slid his other hand under her belly to find her nub with his thumb. She whimpered, inclining her head to rest her forehead against his. His voice sounded low and breathless. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes to find his. His gaze made warmth and heat pool in all different parts of her body. She hadn't felt this close to him for too long. "Sansa," he groaned, "my beautiful Queen, my wonderful wife, my Sansa."

She only managed to moan his name, rocking erratically, forcing her eyes to remain open as she felt her release nearing. She dug her nails into his shoulders and shattered around him, crying out: "Jon!"

He grabbed her by the hips to help her keep moving, picking up the pace as he started to thrust into her. He erupted inside her with a guttural grunt, her walls still fluttering around him. He grasped the edges of the tub as she slumped against him and they both tried to regain control of their breathing.

She nuzzled her face into his neck as his hand started rubbing her back. She kissed her way up to his mouth to capture his lips, enjoying the prickly tickle of his beard. He returned her kiss lazily, humming and bumping their noses together.

"Help me get out now?" she asked in a low voice. He kissed the tip of her nose and helped her up and out of the tub, wrapping her in a warm and soft drying linen. She felt a drowsiness settle in her limbs as she let him hold her to him. She blinked a couple of times to keep her eyes open.

Sansa sat down on the chest at the foot of the bed as she watched Jon dry off and slip into a fresh pair of smallclothes and a loose tunic. She waved her hand slowly in the direction of the far corner of the room, trying to cover her yawn with the other: "I need to brush my hair."

He crossed the room to pick up her brush and returned to slip behind her, his legs on either side of hers. "Let me do that," she heard him say. "You don't have to. I'm perfectly capable of brushing my own hair," she objected. "I know that," he chuckled, "but you're tired."

She couldn't deny that. She couldn't remember him actually brushing her hair or putting on her nightrail or helping her into the bed. She awoke the next morning, curled up on her left side with Jon sitting next to her. "You're up," she croaked. He offered her a sad smile. "I couldn't sleep."

She was completely alert in a moment, whispering: "What's wrong?"

He opened his arms and she pushed herself up to accept his invitation. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed. They sat together quietly for a while. Sansa grew impatient and had to bite her tongue. Finally, he confessed: "It's the Kingslayer... I'm afraid I'm making the wrong decision."

She lifted her hand to cup his cheek. "You're not," she assured him. "You're thinking like a King, not like a man who has been wronged. That's good."

She could feel the tense set of his jaw under her palm. "He needs to be punished. All of our bannermen want to see him punished. They must think me weak for not being able to do it myself."

"I know you would," she answered, brushing her fingers over his cheek, "but you explained. The risk is... Kinslaying is one of the worst sins in the eyes of Gods and men in the North. They understand, I believe they love you more for it."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I know that, still... Keeping him here alive gives us leverage over both Cersei and Daenerys, but I'm afraid their desire to see him lose his head might overpower their rational judgement. They want to see blood, I can feel it."

His statement sent a shiver down her spine. They'd both heard about Robb executing Lord Karstark for murdering those Lannister boys and the devastating consequences it had brought for him.  _Please, don't let anything like that happen to Jon._ She'd kill Jaime Lannister herself, even knowing it would reduce her to a mess of tears and trembling limbs, if she thought it would help Jon. But the truth was that he was too valuable a hostage to waste simply to placate their bannermen.

"They will. I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I hope Daenerys arrives here soon."

He nodded and lapsed back into silence. She allowed him the time to think, distracting herself by trying to recall the words to a bawdy song she'd heard Tormund sing a couple of days ago. It worked, though it made heat creep up her cheeks. She could feel Jon readying himself to speak. "I don't want to tell you, but I suppose it's better if you hear it from me."

Her heart skipped beat. "Manderly and Glover came to me after the meeting. They were worried about um... They feared we might not be able to consummate the marriage given our history as siblings."

 _Oh._ Sansa had to push back a giggle.  _If only they knew._ "I tried to dismiss them, but Glover insisted."

She would have guessed Jon had been extremely uncomfortable during that conversation without the benefit of his clipped voice. "I told him the consummation had already taken place, but he demanded proof."

"What?"

They all knew she was not a maid, what proof could he possibly want? She could feel Jon's entire body tense up, his arms growing a little too tight around her. "He had the nerve to suggest a..."

He let his statement trail off. She closed her eyes. "You can tell me, Jon."

He exhaled harshly through his nose. "He seemed to think a public consummation would be required."

She tried to repress the flashes of that night in the Godswood. Robb's room. Theon's terrified and then horrified face. The sound of fabric being ripped open. She pressed her ear to Jon's heart, breathed in his smell to help her calm down. "It's me," Jon kept repeating, rocking her in his arms, "I'm here."

She didn't know how long he held her like that, long enough for her body to be able to relax. If there was more, she needed to hear it now. She took a deep breath. "What else did he say?"

He sighed. "I told him the babe in your belly was proof enough. He- he called you a whore and me a fool for trying to protect you and your bastard."

 

 


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling with this one for a very long time. I never stopped thinking about it, but I kept telling myself: "I'll try again tomorrow" or "Maybe it'll go better next week."
> 
> I always knew where I wanted to end this for Jon and Sansa, it was all the other characters' storylines which gave me such a hard time.
> 
> And I guess I also did it to myself by writing too many other fics. 
> 
> Then I had a couple of rough months, during which I hardly wrote anything, but now that season 7 is coming to an end, I think I'll get back to working on my WIPs.
> 
> I wanted to give you the conclusion of Jon and Sansa's story in this part before the end of season 7, which means you'll get one Jon chapter today and a Sansa chapter on Sunday.
> 
> I'll keep the rest of their story and the sideplots for a second part of this series, my version of season 8, if you will. I'll probably start posting chapters for that by October.
> 
> I hope people are still interested in this story. If not, at least I'll be happy to have finally finished this...
> 
> Enjoy!

When Jon finally returned from the hunt that had been long overdue, Sansa wasn't there to greet him. After directing the servants to provide the lords who'd joined him with everything they might need and instructing some others to bring the deer they'd shot to the kitchens, he headed to his chambers. On the way up there he ordered his squire to prepare a bath. Sansa had become very particular about him being clean all the time and as her pregnancy progressed, he'd learned it was best to go along with her irrational demands.

That was the drawback of her fulfilling her tasks as Queen so diligently. It demanded so much of her energy that she barely had any left to be civil with him when he managed to annoy her. He kept telling himself it would pass. It all meant nothing compared to what he was gaining.

At times he still found it so hard to believe that soon he'd be holding his own son in his arms. _Or daughter_ , he reminded himself, though Sansa was certain it was a boy. It was a dream he'd hardly dared thinking about, felt guilty over even wishing for and had parted with forever when he'd sworn his Night's Watch vows. 

And now it was happening before his very eyes. He was Lord of Winterfell and he was married to the beautiful Lady he loved, who was carrying his child. He longed to see her, to search for differences. Had her stomach swollen even more? Did her skin glow even brighter and rosier than the last time he'd seen her? Did her hair look thicker and shinier? Somehow the mental image made his throat constrict and his breeches tighten at the same time.

None of this meant that he never lost his temper. They were still surrounded by enemies and threats from all sides after all, but lately things were looking up. The army of the dead hadn't moved any closer to the Wall in the last fortnight, almost making the North forget they were still there, but it filled Jon with a nauseating sense of dread. This was the calm before the storm, he could feel it in his bones.

Close to an hour later he found Sansa in her solar, mending cloaks with Lady Karstark, green-haired Wylla Manderly and a slender girl with brown curls. Lord Glover was sitting close to the fire, nursing a cup of ale which he held out to Sansa's maid Amma to be refilled the moment Jon entered. Glover's cup tumbled to the floor as he scrambled to his feet to bow. Alys Karstark rose slowly, helping Sansa up as the two younger girls jumped up to curtsy along with them.

Jon acknowledged their mumbles of "Your Grace" with a nod and strode over to Sansa. The brown-haired girl's large, dark eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared at him. She was probably the same age as Lyanna Mormont and almost seemed to collapse under the weight of the fur adorning her shoulders. He recognized her as Glover's daughter Erena.

He clutched Sansa's cold fingers and brushed his lips over her knuckles, wishing he'd found her alone. "My Queen."

She offered him a warm smile, looking even lovelier than he'd imagined.  _What are all those people doing here?_ he groaned internally.

"How was the hunt, Your Grace?" Lady Karstark asked. Both her and Lady Mormont had been planning to join them, but Lady Alys had fallen ill. She'd encouraged Tormund to go with the hunting party anyway and he hadn't seemed too worried.

"It was a good hunt. Our supplies of meat and furs will be adequately replenished," he answered. "Are you feeling well, My Lady?"

She and Sansa exchanged looks and she bit her lip. "Better than ever, Your Grace."

"Your Grace," Lord Glover interrupted the conversation. Jon turned to him reluctantly. "I regret not being able to join you. Unfortunately I had other duties to attend to."

"Aye, My Lord," Jon retorted, "It's truly unfortunate you need to keep informing me about things you regret."

Glover's hand flew to his upper arm, where Ghost had sunk his teeth into the man's flesh after he'd called Sansa a whore. Jon hadn't mentioned that to her and so far neither had Glover. He didn't like hiding this from his wife, but he was afraid to upset her even more than she already had been. The tension in the room became palpable, until Sansa broke the uneasy silence.

"Lord Glover's daughter Lady Erena will be staying in Winterfell for a while. As will Lady Wylla," she announced in a bright voice. She rested a hand on her belly. "I'm sure I can use some help and after all, a Queen needs ladies in waiting, wouldn't you agree, My Lord?"

"It's a great honour, My Queen." Glover's answer sounded pleasant enough, but his jaw was clenched and there was a glint of barely concealed rage in his eyes. Sansa just inclined her head, before smiling at the two girls as she took their hands and told them: "I'm so happy to have you here with me."

Glover excused himself and left Sansa's solar. Lady Karstark's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, but Sansa still had that placid smile on her face. When the door clicked shut, her lips even curled up into a slight smirk and Jon understood. It was indeed a great honour for a noble maiden to serve as a lady in waiting to a queen, which made it nearly impossible for Glover to refuse.

On the other hand, Sansa had not randomly chosen Wylla Manderly and Erena Glover to serve her. She was trying to ensure their respective grandfather's and father's loyalty by keeping the girls close. He wouldn't call them hostages, but quite frankly they were. He sighed, wishing this wasn't necessary, aware how difficult it must be for Sansa to do this, but at the same time he felt his heart swell with pride.

He took the seat Glover had vacated. "Any other news?"

"Two dozen wagons with gold and food arrived a couple of days ago," Sansa answered, pursing her lips.  _The Iron Bank._ She confirmed his suspicions when she added: "Lord Baelish is set to return within the fortnight."

Alys Karstark looked up, glancing between him and Sansa. "Shall I show Lady Wylla and Lady Erena their sleeping quarters, Your Grace?"

Jon thanked the woman internally as Sansa rose to her feet. "Yes, My Lady, if it please you. I'm afraid I've grown a bit tired. Will you put all these things away, Amma?"

As soon as they were alone, he pulled her in for a kiss. "I've missed you," he sighed against her lips.

"I've missed you too."

He gently pushed her back down on the settee. 

"I'm not really that tired, Jon," she objected.

"I know, but you shouldn't exert yourself."

"I don't have time to sit around," she huffed, crossing her arms. "I have letters to write, to my Uncle and to Lord Royce. I need to make sure everything's ready for the trial-"

"There's still time for that. I'm back now, I'll help you," he tried to reassure her, kneeling in front of her, rubbing her arms.

"Good," she nodded. "You should write to the Lord Commander as well. There's also a letter from Sam. I can't find Rickon's crib anywhere."

Jon blinked at her as she rambled on. "I need to make more clothes for the baby and I should go to the kitchens for the feast."

"What feast?" he chuckled. 

"It's customary to have a feast after a hunt, to lift spirits and to celebrate the hunters' achievements. I hope Bran will come, he spends so much time in the Godswood. And I wish Arya was here... Do you think she's all right, Jon?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He thought he was supposed to be the one who worried all the time. Sansa was the one with all the plans, who always kept a level head.

"Sansa, I'm here. Calm down. Everything will be fine."

She pulled in a sharp breath. "You can't know that. And I don't have time to calm down, Jon. There's so much to do. It's getting cold inside, I should have asked you to bring back more wood."

She went on like that, skipping from one subject to the other, making Jon's head spin, so he could only stare incredulously. Tormund's voice invaded his mind.  _The next time she loses it, just grab her and kiss her._

He grabbed her ankle, lifting her leg to his shoulder, making her yelp. He repeated the motion with her other leg and her slippers fell to the floor behind him with two soft thuds. He pushed her skirts back and turned his head to kiss the inside of her knee.

"What are you doing?"

He offered her a grin. "I'm helping you relax."

Before she could object, he moved his lips up her leg until they met silky bare skin and flicked his tongue out to lick a stripe up her inner thigh. "Jon!"

He started sucking on her soft flesh, nipping lightly. He inclined his head further and opened his mouth over her smallclothes, blowing hot breath into the fabric. She uttered his name again, but this time it came out like a moan. He moved back briefly to remove her smallclothes.

He dove back in, licking up her slit, drawing little cries and sighs from her lips. He looked up to see her dropped back into the cushions, but she quickly tangled her fingers in his hair to guide him back to her cunt. Within moments he had her whimpering, while he licked and sucked at her nub and soon she cried out his name as she shattered against his tongue.

Her thighs gripped his head in a relentless grasp as she arched her hips, riding out her release. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let her. He wanted her completely boneless and utterly spent, every worry on her mind forgotten. He lapped at her folds, dipping his tongue into her and working her nub with his thumb, quickly bringing her to a second peak, all the while ignoring his ever-hardening cock.

By the time he got inside her, he'd probably spill on the first stroke, but he didn't care. He'd just put his mouth on her again, leaving her no time to fret, until he was hard again and then he'd take her a second time. He used his free hand to give himself a squeeze through his breeches, groaning into her sensitive flesh.

"Jon," Sansa begged, "please, I need you."

"Not yet," he panted, moving his lips to her nub again, "first, I want you to come for me again."

With ease, he slipped two fingers into her and curled them inside her as his tongue zigzagged over her pearl. Her cunt and thighs tightened around him as she rocked her hips and pulled at his hair, until he felt her walls contracting around his fingers. He couldn't wait any longer. He untied his breeches and freed himself before lowering her legs from his shoulders to his hips.

He rubbed the head of his cock into her wetness, making her buck her hips, and aligned himself at her entrance. He pushed in and grabbed the soft flesh of her firm, round arse. When he was balls-deep inside her, they both gasped. She was so wet and hot, squeezing him, still fluttering around him, so he held himself still, savouring the moment as she pushed herself up to look at him.

Her face was flushed, her bosom heaving. Her eyes were dark and clouded and she kept flicking out her tongue to wet her lips. Some stray locks of her hair were plastered to her neck and forehead. She stretched out her hand and he let go of one of her arse cheeks to intertwine their fingers.

She locked her legs around him, her stocking-clad heels digging into his muscles, pulling him even closer. His balls were already tightening the moment he started moving, but he still lasted longer than he'd anticipated, if only by a couple of thrusts. He kept rocking into her, trying to draw out his release as he chanted her name.

She kept moving with him, chasing her own peak and he only stopped when she gripped his fingers tightly before collapsing again. He pulled out, ignoring his painful knees to lift her legs over his shoulders again so he could kiss her mound. 

He heard her giggle. "Jon, what?"

Suddenly she released a shriek and he veered up, startled by her panicked cry. Her face was contorted into a mask of horror, eyes wide and lips parted. Instinctively, he turned around. The door to Sansa's solar was open and standing in the doorway was none other than Petyr Baelish, frozen in shock. The moment his eyes met Jon's, he whirled around and ran, but not before Jon had caught his look of hate and deep revulsion.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter on Sunday!


	68. Chapter 68

Jon's voice cursing and yelling resounded through the solar like a distant echo, but the ringing in Sansa's ears was too loud to understand his words. Her head was spinning and she had to blink to keep her vision from blurring. Littlefinger's smirk flashed before her eyes as her ears were filled with the sound of fabric ripping and a high-pitched cackle.

Warm, calloused hands brushed her hair from her face and a bearded jaw was pressed into her palm. Jon's voice became steadier. "Sansa? Sansa? I'm here. It's me, Jon."

She let him pull her into his lap. He kissed her hair and rubbed circles into her back as he held her hand.

"Jon?" she whispered.

"Aye, I'm here, sweet girl."

"I don't want to be weak, Jon," she sobbed.

"You're not," he whispered roughly.

"I wish you could hold me forever." She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his comforting smell.

"I will, but I'm going to kill him first," he answered, putting his hand on her belly. The babe kicked, as if he liked the idea. It reminded her of Arya. 

"You agree, little wolf?" Jon chuckled.

The babe kicked harder and Sansa smiled. "He just loves your voice."

"Do you, Robb?"

She blinked at him. "Robb?"

Jon clasped her hand. "You don't like it? Bran said you were going to call him Brandon, but I thought that was just him being, well, Bran."

She did like the idea, but it felt too soon. It had been years since they'd lost Robb, but somehow being home again and taking up the role that had always been meant for him made their grief sharper again. She knew Jon could feel it too. Robb was quite an example to live up to, she didn't want to put that burden on their firstborn.

"I think I like Ned for our first," she told Jon. 

He kissed her cheek, right under her eye. "How many babes are you planning on having, My Queen?"

"Six," she answered without hesitating, but added. "If we're that lucky."

"We will be," he assured her. "We'll win this war. I'll come back to you and put a dozen babes in you, if that's what you want, Sansa."

She searched his eyes. "Is that what you want?"

He arched an eyebrow and trailed his eyes up and down her swollen breasts and belly. "Aye," he told her, pressing his lips to her forehead, "that's exactly what I want."

"Then we'd better go and deal with Littlefinger first," she sighed.

Jon pursed his lips and nodded. "I'll take care of him."

She bit her lip. "I... I still think he should be tried instead of just... I want him to see that the entire North knows of his crimes against our family."

He arched an eyebrow.

"He might talk to me..."

"Sansa, no, it's too dangerous.  I can't risk..."

"As long as there's a chance," she insisted.

He exhaled heavily through his nose. "Fine, but I'm coming. And so is Ghost. Maybe..."

"No," she told him. "Rhaegal isn't coming anywhere near the Keep. And you two need to keep your distance."

Jon muttered under his breath: "I bet she'd like roasted mockingbird."

 

* * *

 

Sansa tugged her cloak more closely around her, trying to hide Needle under the layers of fur and bracing herself for what was coming. The snow was flurrying around her in wild gusts of wind, the spikes between the inner and outer walls almost completey concealed by a layer of white.

She turned around, taking a deep breath and scanning the moors surrounding Winterfell. She closed her eyes briefly and sighed as she heard someone struggling toward her through the blanket covering the ramparts. She'd expected him to come to her. 

"So it was _him_." Littlefinger's voice almost choked in bitterness on the last word.

She pursed her lips, not sure whether she was suppressing a smile or another sigh. She forced a bland but pleasant expression to appear on her face as she turned to him. "I told you my child was fathered by a wolf, Lord Baelish."

His chin twitched and a dark glint flickered in his eyes. Jon and Ghost were close, she wouldn't let fear hold her back.

His lips slipped into a sly smirk. "So this is what you've become, My Lady? Your bastard brother's whore?"

Something snapped inside her and she decided to abandon every strategy she'd been contemplating. "I'd rather be his whore than your wife!"

Shock, rage and possibly a hint of madness passed over his face. Perhaps she should leave it at that, it wasn't that far off from the truth of how this had started, yet it turned the beauty of what she and Jon had into something dirty, so she added: "But I'm not."

"Aren't you?"

She turned her eyes to the blinding white and icy grey surrounding her home again. "You used to own several brothels. I assume you know the definition of the word. If anyone has ever tried to make me a whore, it's you. Jon has done no such thing. He's made me his Queen and his wife."

He huffed. "Is that what he's told you? I thought you were smarter than that, Sansa. The Northerners will never accept this. He's your half-brother!"

She offered him a calm smile. "He's not. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

The look on his face was answer enough. "Of course I knew! I saw that foolish wolf girl sneak off to run away with her dragon prince! I knew Brandon would do something reckless and get himself killed! With him out of the picture, Cat was supposed to turn to me... But she married that oaf you called father instead! Of course I tried to find out who his bastard's mother was! Once I had all the information, it wasn't hard to piece it all together..."

Sansa's nostrils flared, but she could only stare at Littlefinger, unable to look away as his carefully crafted composure crumbled before her eyes. His face was red, his eyes were slits and the corners of his mouth were foaming with saliva. Gone was the amiable, clever Lord Baelish. The man before her looked more like a child throwing a temper tantrum than a lord. 

"I thought you were smarter than this, but you prefer the Northern fool as well! You stupid girl!"

Sansa sighed, using every last ounce of patience to rein in her anger. "It's over, Littlefinger. As we speak, Lord Royce is with my cousin Robin at the Gates of the Moon. The Lords of the North and the Vale have been informed of your crimes. All of your crimes. Including your betrayal of  _the oaf I called Father._ "

He lunged forward, trying to clasp her hand. "Whatever they told you, it's not true. Lies, all lies, I swear it, sweetling." He retreated a few steps, his eyes nervously flickering to a spot behind her. "I did it all for us!"

"There is no us. There never has been," she answered, putting as much ice in her tone as possible. 

He looked over her shoulder again and to her surprise he smiled.

"Oh, clever girl, I see now. This can bring us closer to our goal. Daenerys has the better claim once House Targaryen is restored, but she's a woman. When all is said and done, many a lord might prefer a man who's grown up in the Seven Kingdoms, even if he's a bastard. Did you know the Dragon Queen is barren, my love? But you..."

He approached her, eyes manic. "The Irone Throne will be ours, sweetling." He tried to touch her, leaning in to kiss her, but she pushed him away, unsheathing Needle.

He chuckled. "You're not a fighter, Sansa."

"Neither are you."

"You don't know how to use that. Put it away."

She shrugged. "Someone told me: 'Stick 'em with the pointy end.'"

A couple of feet behind her Jon snorted.

"I know you won't do it," Baelish objected, but the look in his eyes betrayed that he thought she would. He backed away and she stepped forward, pointing the blade at his throat. Jon and Ghost followed, but kept their distance. 

"You betrayed my Father. Your actions helped the Lannisters kill my Mother and brother. You killed my Aunt Lysa. You sold me to the monsters who helped kill my family. You plotted against my King and husband. In the name of House Stark I, Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"

As she glared at him, waiting for her judgement to sink in, a raven appeared out of nowhere. It flapped its wings at Littlefinger's face and started pecking at his eyes. He tried to shield his face with his hands, but his motions brought him closer to Needle, making him take another step back.

Sansa and the raven advanced, driving him further up against the wall. His legs hit the stone and he waved his arms wildly to fend off the bird. He tried to retreat further and lost his balance. Petyr Baelish tripped and tumbled over an excision in the parapets, falling to his death.

Sansa gasped in shock, dropping Needle in her haste to peer down over the wall. Littlefinger's body lay mangled between Winterfell's defences, an ugly blotch spreading a crimson stain on the pristine snow. Suddenly Jon's arms were around her and she allowed herself to slump against his warm solid body.

"It's over," he whispered, "he can never hurt you again."

She nodded. "He can no longer hurt anyone ever again."

The raven cawed, flying off into the distance. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting! I finally managed to bring this story to a point where I'm satisfied with finishing part 1, but it's far from over.
> 
> I need some time to think about the other characters' storylines so I can bring them all together in Winterfell for the Great War. Sam, Theon, Dany and Arya will all be coming North. Euron will make an appearance and Cersei will learn about Jaime's failure.
> 
> I might try to include some things I liked about season 7 in the second part. I will start posting chapters for it in October and it will be called 'Ice in Our Veins, Fire in Our Hearts'. There will be more POVs, more drama, more action, more magic and of course a baby will be arriving...
> 
> I hope to see you again then!


	69. Author's Note

Back in August, I promised to start posting chapters for the sequel. It's late November now and I still haven't published anything...

I feel like I owe you all some kind of explanation, even if it's only for my own peace of mind...

I've been struggling with this story for over six months now, and no matter what I try, I'm just not getting there.

I tried to give myself some time and space to focus on other fics, but this one was always there in the back of my mind, begging for attention. It always ended up with me stressing about it and then some more about the fact that it was keeping me from focussing on other stories. It wasn't good for my procrastination tendencies.

So what I guess I'm trying to say, is that my brain sort of needs this official statement that I'm letting it go for a while. So I'm putting off working on the sequel for now.

The only goal I suppose I still have is finishing it before season 8, but I'm not even going to try to think about that too much :')

So anyway, thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting on this story. I hope some of you understand my nonsensical explanation.


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